Sons of the Golden Flame
by Karynna
Summary: Complete. The cruel manipulation of two people brings them to a place where, broken, they come together. Epilogue posted.
1. Morning

At 18, he had the world to gain. He had the best training the Fire Nation offered. He had mastered every tactical strategy, bending, hand-to-hand combat, and political course thrown at him. His smooth talking and witty charm gave him an ease with women even his handsome younger brother would never claim.

Iroh, crown prince of the Fire Nation, felt his power grow within him as the fiery sun rose in the east. He was confident as he overlooked the city he would one day rule as Fire Lord. The people were scurrying about in the early morning light, preparing for the day.

* * *

Zania looked in the mirror. She began to apply her face paint, feeling the stiffness in her bad elbow. _Today might be harder than I thought._  
She was a Firedancer, and a good one. One of the best. But pride kept her dancing in the streets and not the Houses. Sure, she could make a good living in there, but out here, she kept her dignity.  
With a last stroke of crimson beneath her dark amber eyes, she finished her make-up, an almost mindless task after nine years of work. Buckling the clasps of her dress about her wrists, she stepped out of her apartment into the dingy alley.

_Time for work._

* * *

Iroh knocked as he opened the door.

"Ozai...oh, Ozai!" he called. "Guess who's going to the festival tonight?"

Ozai grunted and turned a page in a strategical text.

"Oh, I thought surely you'd show more interest, but I guess you're not interested in Ursa and her family...I'll just leave now."

The book snapped shut.

"Oh good! You'll come."

"Is...is she really gonna be th-ere?" Ozai's voice cracked mercilessly.

_Poor kid. Thirteen's a tough age,_ Iroh sympathized. "Of course, everybody's gonna go. Besides, her father was just here requesting a guard for the night."

Ozai coughed and vainly tried to lower his voice. "Perhaps I'll go then."

"And you know, if she isn't there, there's always a Firedancer or two to make things interesting."

"Iroh! They're beneath us! They're just dirty, poor beggars with no decency!"

"Ah, but they're fun to watch, aren't they?" Iroh smirked as he watched Ozai squirm against his will. "I'll take that as a yes."

"I'll come tonight. When are you leaving?"

"I'll leave for the bazaar two hours past midday. But in the meantime, I believe I'm ready for some breakfast. Do you want something? Some tea, perhaps?" Iroh smiled, any excuse for tea is a fine excuse.

"I hate tea. And I'm reading," Ozai replied shortly.

"I'll see you this afternoon, then." With that Iroh left the room.

* * *

Zania turned from the alley into the main marketplace. Vendors were already setting up their best products. The Festival of the Sun started today at noon. The festivities would start quietly in reverence of the power of Fire, but would soon grow wilder and wilder, culminating at tomorrow's sunrise, when the entire city would stand silently in the plaza before the palace. At the word of the Fire Lord, the festival would end and people would go back to their daily business.

She fought back a grimace. It would be a busy night, and she'd have to stay awake all night. She'd have plenty audience members, and if she performed well, she'd be able to pay rent for a while. _My elbow just __**had**__ to pick today to hurt, didn't it?_

She walked quickly, trying to avoid attention. She had a brown robe on over her dancing outfit, but her painted face was still visible, so she kept her face down. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a younger dancer setting up territory next to a scarf stand. _Doesn't she know what she's doing?_ She strolled over to the girl, swearing under her breath, trying to stay inconspicuous.

"Taira! You can't set up here!" she whispered hoarsely. "There's a House across the street. Are you blind or just plain stupid?"

"I...I...didn't see it..." the girl stammered quietly.

"Do you think _they'll_ buy that? Do you think the guards they'll send out here haven't heard that before?" Zania took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Let's just get out of here." She smiled a bit. "Why don't you work with me for the morning? It's going to be a long night, and we'll need to conserve our energy." Zania's hand unconsciously strayed to her elbow. "I, for one, am not feeling up..." Her voice trailed off as Taira's eyes widened in fear.

Strong hands clasped Zania's shoulders and a rumbling voice spoke quietly in her ear.

"Tell me, Zania. Is your elbow bothering you again?"


	2. Lessons

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* * *

"More tea, sir?" a slow blush crept up her face, but her hands stayed steady as she held the steaming kettle.

"Thank you, my dear," Iroh said familiarly. She flushed again as she poured the tea. He clasped her free hand and gazed into her eyes. "Your Prince thanks you," a smirk curled his lips as she dropped her eyes and hurried toward the kitchen. He watched her form move gracefully before standing up and leaving. He didn't pay. No prince should have to

Back at the palace, Iroh went to his room. "Bring all my festival outfits to me," he demanded of his attendants.  
When they are all before them, he chose carefully. Deciding on a deep scarlet tunic and umber pants, dismissed his servants and changed quickly. He looked in a mirror and combed his hair before retying it. _The Royal Family must look important and superior._

He smiled at his reflection. He did look good.

He went to fetch his brother. _Today, I will teach him how to be a man._ He chuckled. _If he can keep his voice level..._

Ozai had also dressed to impress. He looked much older than he was; he was almost as tall as Iroh. "Good choice of clothing, little brother."

"Thank you," Ozai muttered. "Let's go."

As they walked through the gates, Iroh put his arm around Ozai's shoulders. "Today, I'm fulfilling my duty to you as an older brother. I'm going to teach you how to smooth talk a woman into doing whatever you want her to."

Ozai paled.

"Don't worry," Iroh consoled him mockingly. "You won't be tested on it."

* * *

Zania kept her voice as even as she could. "Let the girl go and I'll come quietly. Your master wouldn't want a fight out here. It's bad for business."

The hands on her shoulders tightened. "You, girl," he grunted. "Get out of here." Taira looked at Zania, unwilling to leave her.

Zania smiled wanly. "Just go. And don't come back."

Taira ran.

The guard brought Zania into the gaudy building. Rich reds and golds filled the main room. They stopped in front of an ornate door and the guard knocked.

"Come in," a smoky voice called.

The guard opened the door and pushed Zania in. "Look who I found outside," he announced.

A gray-haired man sat in a plush chair behind a metal desk. "Zania, what a pleasant surprise!" he cried cheerily. "I thought you would have learned to stay away from here."

Zania ignored him.

"You always were stubborn, weren't you?" The man laughed softly, but his voice lost its friendly facade. "And too proud to know what's best for you. You could have saved yourself so much trouble by joining me." He appraised her thin frame. "You look so hungry, my dear. Would you care for something to eat?" He beckoned to one of his servants. "Will you not talk to me?"

Her gaze went straight through him even as the servant placed a tempting meal before her.

"You don't want any of my food?" Zania's stomach rumbled in protest. "Come now, it won't hurt you. You could eat food like this everyday. You would never go hungry again if you worked here, you know." He helped himself to a bite off her plate. "You could be the main attraction, Zania. The crowning jewel, the prize possession of my House."

"I belong to nobody, especially not a sick tyrant like you, Rorzan."

Rorzan smiled. "I knew you'd speak to me. Don't worry, I won't tell anybody. It can be our little secret. Stay. I'll give you warm food and a warm bed. Anything you want, it's yours. You can stay here for as long as you'd like. I'd even consider you for the headmistress position once you stop dancing..."

Her heart raced. _Warm food and a warm bed..._ The words resonated through her mind. _Yeah, a bed warmed by some rich snob,_ her logic retorted. _This isn't the life I want. I deserve better._ "I'm not joining you."

"Shame." Rorzan sighed. He rang a bell. "Guard! I think my guest needs another lesson or two."

The guard came in and took Zania by the shoulders again, roughly pulling her out a back door. "You should have accepted his offer, wench," he said, pushing her to the ground.


	3. Mercies

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Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

Heads bowed and young women held their breath as the two handsome sons of Azulon passed. Iroh would be marrying soon and every Fire girl fell asleep with dreams of being his Fire Lady.

As they entered the market plaza, it was evident that the festival had already begun. _It will be a bit restrained for a few more hours,_ Iroh judged. _Then the fun begins._

"My lords!" a wheedling voice called. "Some fine metalwork I have!"

"I have the freshest fruit in the city!"

"Pretty flowers to catch a pretty girl, my lords!"

The merchants each came forward, bowing and groveling, their eyes pleading for any sort of recognition.

Ozai looked around at the respect and fear in their faces. _This is what it means. Complete loyalty. Total control._

"What do you say, little brother? I think some fruit would be nice," Iroh asked.

Ozai's lips curled, like a smile, but not quite. "Some fruit would be nice."

The man bowed as he gave his best. His entire business depended on their reaction.

Iroh handed the man a few coins, nothing near the price, and they kept walking.

"Why did you pay him?" Ozai's face was confused. "He should have just given them to us."

Iroh smiled. "Keep them guessing. Always keep them guessing."

* * *

"But then, Master said I do get to have my way with you," he smirked. _This will be easy; she's so small._

Zania's eyes blazed. She stood up. "No."

He advanced toward her, laughing at the mixed fear and determination in her eyes.

Zania's hands caught fire. "If you touch me, it will be the last thing you do."

He drew his sword. "We'll see about that, you little--"

She lashed out in flames, catching his side as he moved to avoid her attack.

"Silly girl, don't you think I'd be prepared for this? Every guard here wears fire-hardened armor," He laughed cruelly. "You're helpless."

He moved to the offensive, manuvering the sword, now covered with his own fire, closer and closer to her. She parried with her flame as best as she could, but it wasn't enough. He held her to the wall.

Crying out in frustration, her hands burned with white-hot fire and she clawed at his fire-proof armor.

One hand encased her neck and the other mockingly caressed her painted face.

"Don't worry," he whispered harshly as he removed his helmet. "I won't forget you."

"Get away from me!" she shrieked in desperation. Her voice dropped to a plea. "Please, leave me alone!"

A dark chuckle answered her.

* * *

"If they don't know what's coming," Iroh continued, "they live in fear. They obey without question. They need know that the hand of mercy is balanced by the hand of cruelty."

"Yes, brother."

Music from a band started to fill the air with excitement. They continued walking along the market when they came to the gaudy Firedancing House. Iroh grinned. _Maybe later tonight..._ he thought, looking at Ozai.

His musings were pierced by sudden cry of fear. Iroh's head turned.

"That probably doesn't concern us," Ozai scoffed.

"Festivals are days for the hand of mercy," Iroh countered and he turned a sharp corner into the twisted alley from where the cry had sounded. "Besides..." he said as he ran side by side with Ozai. "That was a woman. And the damsel in distress..." Iroh grinned.

* * *

"You're going to die here."

His hand began to unfasten the clasp on her robe. Zania could smell his rancid breath and she closed her eyes to remove his face from her mind. She couldn't.

_Spirits save me!_ she prayed. _Don't let me die like this! Even the poor deserve dignity in death...please...have mercy!_

Then it came to her.

"You're right, I will die here."

Her trembling hand glowed anew as she brought it to her neck.

Her voice, strengthened by her resolve, rung throughout the alley.

"But on my terms."


	4. Meeting

Iroh and Ozai ran around another corner to find an armored man pressing what appeared to be a young woman against the wall, a dark robe at her feet. Her pale hand was encased in flame and was shaking with exertion.

"Leave her be," Iroh commanded.

Zania startled at the voice. _A savior? Or another predator?_ she asked cynically. She refused to break the eye contact she held with the guard; she would not show fear.

The man's stance shifted as he continued to laugh at Zania's hopeless circumstance. No silly vigilante could possibly save her.

"The Prince of the Fire Nation commands you."

She fell to the ground as he released her, her black hair falling around her shoulders.

_Prince? Yeah right. What kind of cruel cosmic joke is this?_

The man turned, still laughing. "You couldn't possibly be..." His deep voice faded as he recognized the pair before him.

He fell to his knees. "My lords, my lords..." he mumbled incessantly.

Iroh spat in disgust. "Leave my sight, filth."

The guard stumbled to fulfill his request, leaving the princes with the woman fallen against the wall.

Zania looked up in surprise. _He wouldn't have left unless..._

The sight of two obviously rich men widened her disbelieving eyes.

She hurried to stand up and straighten her disarrayed clothing. Her robe had fallen, revealing her, well, revealing outfit. It was more modest than most dancers', but certain elements remained: sleeveless, midriff, long slits in the skirt, deep neck.

Iroh stared.

She was dirty.  
But _beautiful_.

Ozai stared.

She was beautiful.  
But _dirty_.

Zania bowed gracefully, but remained wary. Princes, possibly. But teenagers. The elder wasn't much older than she and the younger had a look of pure fear. Or possibly hatred. _They could just as easily overpower me, if they're _really_ the princes and the rumors are true. They say that the elder...Teiroh? No, that's not it...is one of the most powerful firebenders of the generation. The younger, though not much smaller, is heartless. And they're both bigger than me. Crud._

She demurely kept her eyelashes cast down as her dark eyes roamed the pair, waiting for the slightest move. _Play innocent and helpless._

Iroh couldn't help but to stare.

_Keep it cool, Iroh. Charm her. Win her. You are a Prince. You are able. Demand her admiration._

"I am forever in your debt, my lords." Zania said, bowing again. She flashed a little girl's smile, but inwardly she groaned.

_I'm going to regret saying that._

"The only thing I ask of you, miss," the elder replied.

Zania tensed._ Crap._

"Is your name."

Zania smiled again. "My name is Zania, my lords."

_Zania, daughter of none_, mocked her conciousness. _None worth mention._

"And mine is Crown Prince Iroh, son of the Golden Flame. This is my brother, Prince Ozai."

They bowed. More out of courtesy, for sure.

_Oh. My. Spirits._ Zania gasped as she glimpsed the golden flame-shaped hairpieces in their hair.. _They are the princes._

Ozai's golden eyes flickered across the woman before him. The flowing fabric clung the the best parts of her body, enough to make him wish for more, but her obvious poverty made him cringe. She wasn't worthy of the attention of the Princes of the Fire Nation, the Sons of the Golden Flame. Powerful. Important.

She was worth less than the dust on his boots.

Even at age thirteen, he knew that. Iroh got too distracted with the least bit of skin or curve.

_Fool._

Zania regained her composure and bowed deeply, her hair sliding around her body like a veil.  
She looked at the sun in the sky. She should be dancing right now, earning something tangible. Memories with the most eligible and unattainable bachelor in the world won't pay the rent. No matter how well sculpted his face, and arms, and hands, and shoulders...

_Any other day but today..._

"My lords, if you'll excuse me," she bowed again. "I have business to attend to."

Iroh's heart quickened. _Leaving? I don't want her to leave. She's so beautiful. And those curves!_

"Perhaps, lady, if you'll allow us to accompany you, we should enjoy each other's company longer."

Ozai blanched. _I am _not_ walking around with a dirty little tramp like her._

Zania could read faces well. It was part of her job. Figure out what a guy wants and how much he'll pay for it. Dance.

And she could tell what each of the men before her wanted. Iroh wanted her to stay. Ozai wanted her to leave. It was painfully obvious that a conflict would ensue. Not a good idea.

"Thank you kindly, my Lords, but I really must decline." She gave them an honest smile and looked them in the eye for the first time. "I can earn no money if I'm already taken."

With that, she bowed, gathered her robe, and hurried out of the alleyway.

* * *

Iroh couldn't believe it. Nobody says no to a prince. But she did. And that irritated him. And intrigued him.

Ozai grunted with disgust. Even though he had wanted her gone, she had no right to just leave. Not without permission.

"Dirty whore! Who does she think she is, looking us in the eye, taking her leave as though she were an equal?"

Iroh saw Ozai's dismayed face, but nothing registered.

"I wish I knew."


	5. Request

Hello to all. :) Thanks for the reviews I've gotten! I have like 250 hits or something like that...I'm pretty stoked.

* * *

Zania walked briskly back to her apartment. She quickly fixed her make-up and straightened her clothes. She lit a fire in her hand and began stretching, loosening her muscles to prepare. She had already lost so much time and her elbow was still stiff.

She hurried out to the bazaar, knowing all of the best locations would have already been taken. She saw Taira had picked a better spot than she had previously. She gave her a slight smile and kept walking. The main part of the festival was about to begin. And she had to be ready.

She spotted a decent place past one of many fruit sellers.

"Master farmer," she adressed the seller.

He turned. He was younger than she expected. And handsome. _Though Prince Iroh was better looking,_ her mind observed before she could catch herself.

* * *

Liro spoke as he turned to the sound of the woman's voice. "Yes?"

Liro took in her appearance carefully as she bowed. Beautiful and small, she wore an enticing outfit made to sway and twist as she danced alongside her fire. He would let her set up; how many times had his father grumbled about how dishonrorable it was to deny a young woman her job? Besides, she would draw attention to the stand.

_Now...if only I could talk to women..._

"If you wouldn't mind, may I dance here, just beyond your stand?"

His hands quavered a little. Growing up outside the city, his main companions had been the gnarled fruit trees and his aging parents. Not much practice with the opposite sex.

"Of c-course," he stammered.

"Thank you, master farmer."

* * *

Zania spoke with a slight tremor in her voice.

_Just enough nervousness,_ she observed. _Young farm boy will eat that up. He'll act like a watchdog, jealously guarding, but not too close._

She bowed before walking to the empty space and setting a simple bowl on the ground. She shed her robe, placing it against the wall. A couple of heads turned.

She created a ring of fire around her, an obvious sign of what she would do. More men crowded around.

She knew she was attractive, the make-up and outfit accenting her natural beatuy. She knew she was one of the best dancers in the city, having trained for the past twelve of her seventeen years. She would soon be surrounded by spectators, most throwing a coin or two in admiration.

But she still felt like a piece of meat.

Zania closed her eyes and focused her anger into the first move of the dance.

* * *

The fire blazed around her; it's harsh light cast shadows across her face. There was a mysterious beauty about the way she flowed and spun.

He watched her dance. Her whole body performed. Her fingers twirled blazing fire around her body, a suitably gifted dance partner of a golden hue occasionally accompanied by a blue-white spark. Her feet created the rhythm with a light tap here, a harder stomp there. Her eyes burned across the spectators, daring them to come closer, warning them to stay away.

Even away from the fire, he began to sweat. Liro turned back to his fruit, he had to feed his parents somehow. _Dutiful son, dutiful son, dutiful son..._ he chanted.

* * *

Iroh and Ozai walked along. Iroh's thoughts strayed to the beautiful woman in the alleyway. Something about her was different. The way she dared look the brothers in the eye had startled both of them. He shook his head.

Perfectly ridiculous.

She couldn't possibly be more than one night's entertainment. She showed too much insolence. Denying a Prince's request? Fool girl.

_But still_, he protested. _There's got to be more to her than the common Firedancer._

A woman passed by and the Princes' heads turned with her. Many women dressed differently for the Festival of the Sun. And she wasn't the only beautiful woman on the streets.

Reds and golds swirled and bowed and parted around the Sons of Azulon as they made their way to the main bazaar. The Festival had begun.

* * *

Zania bowed gracefully as she bent to check the money in the bowl. _Not too bad,_ she noted happily. She took the money and slipped it into pouches she had sewn into her skirt. She stood up.  
Her audience had started to drift away, but a quick blast of fire brought more attention to her ring.

Zania started dancing again, this dance slower, a sinuous mix of bending and seduction. The coins in her skirt jangled in time as she moved her bare feet.

The fruit seller was watching her again. She met his gaze and he blushed. She smiled. _He's a sweet one._

* * *

Thanks for reading...now please reply! I know how much _everybody_ says this, but this is really my only way of knowing what I do right and what I need to improve.

Much love, Karynna


	6. Sunsets

The sun was setting over the city, covering the people in its farewell, a fiery red light glistening on the sparkle of the festival.

Zania lowered her ring of fire. She needed a few moments' rest before continuing into the night. Leaning against the wall, she bathed in the light of the sun. This is what she loved the most, the red light of the sun, the bustle of the market, the slight breeze whisking her hair. It reminded her of her first years as a dancer, working with her Mistress.

Zania had been one of the youngest ever chosen to begin training. Firedancing was difficult to master and hard to escape, prospective apprentices were often encouraged to find some other way. Orphaned and unable to control her bending, Zania had no other way.

So Mistress took her in. Mistress insisted that they watch the sunset together every time they could so they could keep learning to readjust to the sudden absence of the sun. Soon, Zania taught her to see the beauty of the loss, not just its disadvantages.

"Would you like some fruit?" The farmer's voice broke through her thoughts. She gave one last gaze at the sun before smiling at the farmer.

"I'd love a piece of fruit."

"Come, sit with me."

Zania obeyed, grateful for a seat.

Liro's hand shook a little as he cut her a slice of fruit.

"Madam," he said, offering her the fruit. She bit into it with vigor, obviously hungry and tired. He admired her slim hands and the grace with which she moved, even so exhausted.

"What was your name?"

"Zania." Some of the juice from the fruit spilled from her mouth to her hand. She blushed and giggled. He laughed and handed her a rag.

"Here, I'm Liro."

"Thanks...Nice to meet you." No juice this time.

* * *

Iroh and Ozai made their way towards the center stage. The platform offered seats and refreshments to those of noble blood and the men were ready for some rest. The fighting would soon begin and both wanted to participate.

A bowing, snivelling man met them at the steps. My Lords, my Lords, the best seats for you." He snapped his fingers and his servants rudely forced other nobles to give up their chairs for the princes. "This way, my Lords, this way."

Ozai sniffed.

Iroh briefly thanked the man and ordered the best tea be brought to them. Both watched the man go tumbling into the crowd, scurrying for the best tea. The crowd was getting rowdier as the sun set, ready for the night's entertainment. Firedancers were stationed around the plaza, bright bursts of fire against the marketplace.

_That would be nice,_ Iroh mused, _A pretty girl to get the blood going, ready for a fight._

The sniveller came back, bearing a platter of tea and cups, a sugar bowl and honey.

"Two cups, my good man," Iroh bid the servant. He looked around at the other nobles, gesturing toward the tea. "Anybody else is welcome to the bounty of the Flame."

"I'll have a glass," a small, strong voice answered.

* * *

Liro was uncomfortable. He'd like nothing more than to start a conversation with the dancer, but the problem was...she's a dancer. He couldn't ask her about her job or why she started or anything like that...That would be awkward. Very awkward.

_I could ask her about the festival, if she's enjoying herself._

_**No you can't, dolt. She's working...that's off limits.**_

_Then what about family?_

_**What family? All dancers are tramps; they don't have family that will own them.**_

_I've got to try something._

_**But what?**_

_The weather, the sights, the city the--_

"Do you grow the fruit yourself, Master Liro?"

_Praise be._

The conversation flowed smoothly from there. She had been born on a farm, though she couldn't remember much. They laughed and ate together, enjoying the other's presence.

It was so perfect, so beautiful. Aside from their clothing, nobody would suspect that he was a well-to-do farmer and she was nothing more than a piece of the scenery.

* * *

Ozai's heart stopped.

That small, beautiful voice. The only living creature to turn his heart from ice.

The servant poured her a cup of tea and added the honey she requested. Her hands gathered the cup delicately as she drank the way only a noblewoman knew to drink.

"Thank you, sir. It is wonderful."

So graceful, so polite, so beautiful. A spirit herself, a touch of peace in a world of pain. Her golden eyes gazed toward the princes. Ozai's heart quickened its pace. He straightened in his seat, his muscles flexing and tightening. He was handsome, tall for his age, an able fighter, a scholar, a prince.

But to no avail.

Ursa, sweet, beautiful, perfect Ursa, was looking at Iroh.

* * *

Thanks for reading; I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know!


	7. Defense

Sorry for the wait! R&R!

* * *

The sun had set and the moon had risen.

Zania looked up in surprise as workers lit the lamps. There were few torches about, as many Firebenders would be displaying their art, some in more socially accepted ways than hers, some in less.

She stood and bowed to the farmer in haste.

"Thank you so much for the fruit. I'm sorry to leave like this...I shouldn't have lingered here for so long. I need to get back to work."

Liro bowed in return.

"It was a great pleasure to speak with you, Lady."

Zania allowed him a sweet, quick laugh for his overformality. Her renewed ring of fire and customers said it all.

Nobody considered _her_ to be a Lady.

* * *

"Ah," Iroh noted aloud to the platform of nobles. "The fighting has begun! I'll just watch, for now. Let them think they're good." His friendly laugh was loud and the platform soon joined him.

They watched as two, three, four matches passed in the rings around them. Mediocre fights they were-just overzealous teens and overaged men.

_No real challenge..._ Iroh sighed. _How boring._

"Let's get this started then, shall we, brother?" Iroh said jovially.

Ozai tried to grin, an unfamiliar movement that resulted in an unfamiliar face. "Let's."

_I'll take you down, you overconfident bumbling dolt. She will notice ME. Not you. Never again you._

The brothers stood and bowed to the other nobles. They all stood and bowed lower in return. Ursa's eyes briefly met Ozai's and the smile was a little more believable.

* * *

Zania's eyes closed as she began to relax in the familiar movements of dance. She could still taste the sweetness of the fruit. How nice. Getting more and more comfortable in her surroundings, she looked back toward the stand and Liro. They were so!

_Ah, what's the word...compatible? well-matched? Well, I know what I mean so what does it matter? Not that anything could ever...  
_

_If only..._

Her step faltered and she began to fall. Quickly, she brought her fire up around her and tried to balance herself with her arms flowing gracefully outwards. She hit the ground, but had managed to somewhat disguise it was another part of the dance. Not every customer was so easily fooled. One man growled his displeasure and shot his own fire at her. Zania stood and bowed deeply her remorse at his disappointment, cleverly dodging the flame at the same time.

"Stupid, worthless girl!" she heard him mutter as he walked away. A few others joined him, leaving her ring a bit less crowded than before.

She took the loss in stride, immediately flowing into another dance, angry for having lost her focus.

_Stupid, worthless girl!_

* * *

Iroh stepped into the fighting ring, now shirtless. His opponent was some weakling who might have done better thirty years ago.

The judge clapped his hands, signalling the beginning.

Iroh elegantly moved into a fighting stance, separating his chi, readying the lightning. A quick blast of the old man's blue fire startled him, but Iroh responded quickly.

It was over in three more moves. Iroh kicked flames at the man in a corner, now flashing fire wildly around him. The man moved forward confidently, but Iroh called lightning to hit his feet. The elder jumped, but Iroh's next ball of fire sent him tumbling to the ground.

Iroh calmly stood next to the man, placing his foot on his chest and declaring victory with a charming smile.

A group of girls sighed in unison.

Ozai fought with vigor. As an entry in a separate ring, he and Iroh wouldn't fight each other until the final match between the champions of the four rings.

_I _will_ be the champion._

He defeated another opponent with ease, casually looking toward the platform of nobles. Ursa was gazing in his direction, and though she was too far away to know for sure, Ozai convinced himself that, indeed, there was really nothing better to look at than himself.

His well-toned, young body bowed to the next victim. _Three more fights, then she will see how superior I am._

* * *

Zania's dancing slowed as the moon sailed toward morning. By this time of night, only one thing remained on the minds of her customers, and she would _not_ partake of that. The men threw more and more money into her bowl, vying for her attention and favor.

_It's about to get very ugly here._ She looked to Liro. He was attending to some customers. _But would he really be that good in a fight anyway? There are too many of them. Maybe if I just hang in here longer._

The men were hungry and tired of her dancing. Some of them recognized her from the last time they had watched her dance and knew she had not previously given in. But the look in their eyes proved that they were willing to try. She was a treasure, a gem for any man to boast. The girl-wonder who had trained under the famous Ynna. The dancer who had been performing solo for the past 5 years, ever growing in beauty and talent. The woman who refused to share her pallet, no matter the offer.

Her graceful moves ended in a deep bow. The fire ring shimmered slightly before dying out. So distracted by the dimming fire, they did not notice her gather the money quietly and prepare to leave. Not immediately.

It was something about the tensing of their shoulders that sounded the trumpet of alarm. The way they unconsciously tried to grasp and retain her performance.

Zania was ready when the first flame flew, simply gathering the fire and killing it. She bowed again and took a step toward Liro's stand, ready to defend the sweet farmer and produce as best she could.

One of the cloaked men stepped forward. "Come now, sweetheart. We jes want ya to stay a little while longer. No harm there."

_No harm my left kidney,_ she retorted in the sanctuary of mind. But she remained silent and bowed again. _Come _on!_ Get the idea. Do I have to do this every stinking night?_


	8. Winning

The men had begun to retreat, all but the one who had spoken. Her grace-filled bows had done their job and discouraged them. However the one who remained seemed unable to get the message.

"C'mon, girl." He stepped forward again. "I'm not gonna hurt ya. Jes want to talk."

Zania stepped back, eyes wildly searching for a way to get him away with out starting a fight. Liro was still busy. Most of other men had left, a few staying, curious of what would ensue. No other dancers around. Anybody in the plaza was more interested in the fights, not her.

_The fights!_

Her eyes snapped back to the man before her. "I might talk with you if you impress me." She twirled a strand of black hair around her thin finger, eyelashes fluttering a bit. Zania held his rapt attention. "Win the fights. Then I'll talk with you."

A sliver of a laugh escaped her lips. She would win this war of wills.

He smirked with a short, mocking bow. "For you, then..." He turned and went to join the lines.  
The remaining men left, no longer interested.

Zania took one last look at Liro. "Maybe we'll see each other again," she whispered to herself.

Then she vanished as only the practiced can.

* * *

Liro thanked the lady for her purchase.

_Busy night._

He glanced back at Zania, a smile already forming on his face in anticipation of seeing her. But she was gone.

Completely and suddenly gone.

He sighed as he turned back to the line of hungry people. The festival had been going on for hours and many fruit stands had already shut down. He exchanged a plump fruit for a plump sum and set back into the humdrum affair of business.

* * *

Iroh and Ozai now stood in the largest ring in the plaza along with two other men. The championship fight. No prize was to be won but bragging rights envied by all. And each man was sure that _he_ would win.

The four men stood in separate corners. Iroh, powerful and strong. Ozai, sharp and determined. Hao, young and rash. Borri, experienced and yearning the company of a beautiful young dancer.

The judges stood and bowed to the contestants. The contestants bowed to the judges and then, reluctantly, to each other.

There was a brief tension. Then Hao lashed out with a whip of flame. The fight began.

Hao was the first to fall. His impetuous bending exhausted him far too early. Ozai pinned him easily, the thirteen-year-old Prince disabling the teen with a quick blow to the side. Hao left the ring with his head held high. Many girls would appreciate a man who had made it to the championship ring.

Iroh was the clear favorite. His limitless power matched his charming wit. His skin shone with sweat and stretched over an imposing frame.

"Iroh! Iroh! Iroh!" the crowd chanted.

He smiled as he called forth lightning and surrounded Borri. Ozai grinned viciously. The younger Prince blasted fire through the electric cage, nearly killing the helpless man before Iroh stopped him.

Borri was out, but his head hung low and anger rose high. He would find that tramp and make sure that she did more than talk.

The match was down to the brothers. Every spectator held his breath. This would be a fine fight indeed.

Iroh's power cornered Ozai. Ozai's ruthless, heartless cunning brought himself past his brother. Ozai kicked up the dust, blinding both brothers. He hunted Iroh, coming up behind him as the cloud settled.

Ozai held a burning finger to his brother's throat, hissing in his ear.

"I hate you."

Iroh felt a chill set down his spine as the flames licked his neck. The crowd stared with bated breath. It would be too easy for the younger to kill the other, the line of succession altered.

Iroh reached behind him and grabbed Ozai's waist with strong hands. He pulled him over his head and dropped him to the ground. Iroh pinned his arms down with his hands and chest with his knees. The judges stood quickly, signaling the end of the match.

Iroh had won. The crowd erupted wildly. "Iroh! Iroh! Iroh! Iroh! Iroh!"

Ozai glared at his brother, that waste of talent and position. He stalked up behind his brother, walking to the ring's exit.

Again, he whispered harshly in Iroh's ear.

"I hate you. And I _will_ kill you."

Iroh visibly paid no mind, bowing to the crowd and accepting their praise.


	9. Breathe

Sorry for the wait.  
College and all that…  
Read and Reply!

* * *

Zania sprinted home to change out of the dancer's garb. She scrubbed her face clean and put on a dark cloak over a simple peasant dress. She caught her reflection in the mirror.

_How different_.

She looked around the small room. Nothing out of place. Pallet rolled and put away, makeup jars closed securely, small basket of food nearly empty. Yep, this was home.

She exited the apartment and followed the general flow to the Great Square outside the palace. The sun would soon rise and the crowd would stand silent, awaiting the Fire Lord's annual speech. There had been some rumors flying about this year's address. Something about an important announcement or news on the war. Whatever it was, people were excited.

Zania assumed an anonymous position among the masses, finding peace in the fact that nobody was giving her disgusted or disgusting looks. It was kinda nice.

* * *

After the fight, Iroh and Ozai returned to the reserved platform. Iroh strode up the stairs to a polite applause from the elders that soon turned into a raucous cheer from the younger generation. He bowed slightly, grinning. Ozai walked on in a storm.

Some of the elders had risen. It was time to gather with the city in the Great Square. Iroh downed one last cup of tea, wishing it were something stronger. He knew what was coming in the speech and he wasn't thrilled.

_It had to come sometime,_ he lamented as he, too, left the platform to head to the palace.

* * *

The sun's rays peeked over the palace, the early morning light glistening over the alabaster steps. The crowd was hushed.

Zania reveled in the silence, in the way the sun filled her body with energy. She closed her eyes in the blessed stillness.

The royal family now stood upon the great dais. They, too, stood in silent reverence for the sun's glory.

The people began to breathe as one. In. Out. In. Out. Fire is their breath. Fire is their life. In. Out. As one they breathe; as one they live. In. Out. The sun fills the benders with power. The benders' power fills the nation with pride.

In. Out.

In. Out.

One of them steps forward.

In. Out.

_How odd,_ they think. _That he steps against the rest of us._

He breathes out of time and they are released.

* * *

The Fire Lord Azulon broke the silence, voice ringing.

"Great Sun!" He shoots a single meek flame to the risen sun. "Bring glory to your most humble servants!"

"My people!" He bows the courteous bow of a leader, of a father, of a liar. "Let the Sun fill you! Let the Great Fire remind you of who we are! We are the stewards of the Golden Flame. We are the bringers of light, progress, future. We are the Fire Nation!"

The crowd roars.

"Let the Great Fire remind you of our mission! We fight to bring about change. We fight for the advancement of all mankind through the elimination of our inferiors. We fight for the future of our sons and daughters; that they may awake in a world beyond our wildest dreams!"

Another great cheer.

"And this, my brothers and sisters, brings me to my son, Iroh. He has fulfilled eighteen years and is now eligible to fulfill his royal duty to marriage."

Many female audience members suddenly began to pay much better attention. Iroh, however, looked annoyed.

"In six months, my son, Iroh will have chosen a bride. Join me in encouraging him to choose wisely, for she will share in his power and price."

With this, Iroh walked forward and bowed to the excited crowd. He gave a charming smile and receded to his former position.

He hardly heard the benediction as he contemplated the coming parade of women.

_Great._


	10. Choices

Thanks for every reply and hit!  
I'm glad to know that y'all enjoy my writing and I hope to keep it up!

Read and reply!

* * *

His knees shook as he bowed low. Iroh couldn't remember when he'd last been this nervous. Marriage was _not_ a subject he wished to talk about.

But here he was, kneeling before a laden tea table. Across from him sat his father and mother. Fire Lord Azulon and His Lady Ila. Inclining his head, Iroh poured tea for his parents.

_Two spoons of sugar for Mother; one for Father. Slightest drop of cream for Mother; none for Father._

Azulon and Ila beamed at their favored son. Well, Ila beamed. Azulon kept his beaming inward; a Fire Lord remains staunch. But his heart swelled with pride.

Such a good son.

They each took a sip of tea. Iroh poured himself a cup.

_Please get this over with. Please. Please. Please..._

The Fire Lord spoke first. "Many young women are to be presented to you, son. And the choice will ultimately rest with you. But we, as your parents, must give you the advice we can."

Ila set her cup down. "The Fire Nation stands at a brink. The six most powerful families are waiting for your choice, Iroh. And they will act upon your decision."

"Yes, mother."

"The most powerful family, the Huojin, have many daughters available. However, marrying one of them," cautioned the Fire Lady, "would not be in the best interest for the throne. The Huojin have become too powerful lately. Taking one of their girls would only strengthen them."

"And there has been some rumor of mutiny among them. Many of the lesser nobles in that family think that _I_ have too much power and they encourage the Huojin to usurp my throne." Azulon frowned.

Iroh mirrored his father's expression. This was more trouble than it was worth.

"The wealthiest family, the Jinhai, would have been the ideal choice, I believe, but they have no eligible women to present. All too ugly or low. But the elders of the family have presented something else." The Fire Lord paused, glancing at an empty cup of tea.

Iroh leaned forward and poured more tea with one spoon of sugar.

"They have allied themselves with the lowest of the six, the Shan, the people of the Western Islands. The Shan have few girls. And though none are known well, all are adequate choices. The Jinhai propose that you take one of theirs, the least of the families," explained the Fire Lord.

Iroh's mind reeled. _The least? Why in Agni--_

"Iroh?" prompted Ila. "What are you thinking, dear?"

"I am unsure, Mother," Iroh inclined his head. "If I have your permissions, I would like to retire to study my...options."

"Of course, my son." Azulon stood with his wife. Iroh stood and bowed deeply.

When he rose, he saw something unexpected: they were bowing back. Confused, Iroh fled the room.

* * *

Two weeks had passed since the Festival of the Sun and Zania had seen Liro three times. Her heart ached a bit more with each glance, for she knew that she was just being silly. The real world doesn't take notice of a little girl crush held by a Firedancer.

So she kept dancing, her steps light and heart heavy.

"It's a waste of your time," Mistress Ynna would say in a moment like this. "This is your world, and that is his. Forget anything to do with him, and you'll be just fine. Now, show me your fire ribbon one more time..."

And little Zania would comply, Mistress Ynna looking on in pride. Zania was not the best of dancers, but she was a hard-worker. And a natural bender. Neither teacher nor student understood the sporadic blue sparks that occasionally laced her fire. But both understood how valuable that would be on the streets.

_I miss her,_ lamented the dancer as she grabbed a large canvas sack. It was shopping day and the market was just opening. Slinging the straps over her shoulder, Zania left her apartment. The sun shone brightly and Zania picked up its mood, smiling as she walked to the market.

* * *

Liro saw her from across the square. She looked so different without a dancer's paint, but the deep amber of her eyes glinted in the morning sun. He'd seen her several times since they'd met, but she hadn't come to his stand and he sure couldn't leave.

She was avoiding him. He'd seen it before. A beautiful woman shows just enough interest to get what she wants and then leaves. In Zania's case, it had been a place to dance.

_Well, she can forget dancing by my stand anymore._


	11. Decides

I'm so very sorry it has taken so long to get back to the story!I just moved in to college, so I'm pretty busy and stuff.  
So anyway…Sorry for the wait! Read and reply, my friends!

Much love,  
Karynna

* * *

A burst of fire shot past his face. "Gotta do better than that, Zhao!" His hand blazed as he sent a shot towards his sparring partner, explaining his problems between breaths and flames. "So if...I marry...the wrong girl..." A blast of flame"The world ends!"

Zhao laughed and signaled for a break. "What do you need a wife for anyway? Women are too inferior to matter all that much. You don't need one to rule."

"Politically? An heir. Physically?" Iroh laughed as he tossed a skin of water to Zhao. "Well..."

Zhao chuckled and took a drink. "So...when do you choose?"

"The Fire Lord expects me to choose a family before the week ends," said Iroh, rolling his eyes.

"Sucks. What options do you have?"

"I can't marry a Huojin, I'll lose the throne. They're too apt to revolt, and if given a little more power..." Iroh slid his finger suggestively across his throat.

"What about us, man? The Jinhai?"

Iroh shook his head. "Dude, do you ever leave the Agni Kai arena? There are no women in your family."

"Oh yeah...wait...no, she's six. Well...we know the Iwao are out." He gave Iroh a knowing look. "Half-breeds. Every last one of them has some Earth Kingdom whore for a mother."

"And the Hiromi are too...ah...loose for my taste. I want a girl to myself, y'know what I mean?"

"Yeah, but they're fun!" Zhao sniggered. "Don't even bother with the Rei. They're all so stiff and polite and self-conscious. Probably'd end up spending half the day waiting for her to perform all the formalities just to say 'Hello' to her. And forget having an heir..."

"Which leaves the Shan."

"Ugh. They're all so...backwoods."

"Yeah, but they have the support of the Jinhai. And the Rei and Hiromi wouldn't object too badly, as long as she wasn't a Huojin."

"True, but still...the Shan?"

"Looks like it."

* * *

Zania rummaged through her bag, noting what she had purchased and what she still lacked. _Red thread, lye soap, fish, fruit...Liro...Yes, I most certainly need fruit._

Her mind stayed distracted as she haggled the price of the crimson thread. The elderly man got much more than he should have, but Zania hardly noticed as the extra coins exchanged hands. Liro was three stands away and she couldn't wait. She thanked the man and went to stand in line, her heart racing.

Four people in front. Three. Two.

* * *

Their eyes met and all he could see was her anticipation.

What she expected him to say, he didn't know.

So he bowed. It seemed appropriate enough. She was the Fire Lady and his mother after all.

They had run into each other in one of the many corridors, he still sweating from his practice with Zhao, she dressed ready for the most elaborate occasion.

"Hello, Iroh."

"Hello, Mother. I pray you're doing well?"

"Yes, my son. And have you come to your decision?"

Iroh breathed deeply. There really wasn't much of a choice. "Yes, Mother."

"Good. Your father and I will expect your announcement tomorrow afternoon, then."

"Yes, Mother." He bowed. "If it pleases you, Mother, my current perspiring state is not one suited to your company. I request your permission to retire to my quarters."

At this, she laughed, breaking though the heavy facade of a royal family's duty.

* * *

One.

Zero.

Their eyes danced across each other's face, avoiding the direct gaze of an impossible hope.

He handed her the fruit.

She handed him the coins.

He hesitated, breath drawn. But the breath escaped his lips. _No. She just used you. Don't fall for this wench. She's not worth it._

Her face fell. Just slightly--just that fraction.

She spun slightly, ready to leave. She would not force herself through such humiliation.

"Zania. Wait, please. I was just about to close for lunch." The words rushed from his throat. "Join me?"

Their eyes met.

"Of course."

* * *

The announcement shocked the Huojin.

They had been so sure, so sure that they would provide the next royal bride that their daughters had already ordered elaborate kimono and elegant garments, ready to impress their Prince.

Instead, the Jinhai and the Shan celebrated jointly. The Shan prepared their daughters diligently, putting them through their last paces in etiquette and charm. They selected only the best of the girls they had: the most beautiful, the most intelligent, the most captivating.

But the Jinhai had a different plan.

* * *

A stolen glance in the market, a slight nod when busy, the secret language of Liro and Zania formed with caution. Always with caution. A week passed and each was sure that there had to be a way.

Some way, somehow...

Taira looked at Zania with interest. She had recently seemed to be in another world, as though she were haunted. But Zania had never danced so well, her circles were always crowded.

"Zania! Snap out if it, girl!"

Zania's mind jerked back to their conversation. "Oh, wait...sorry. So, Saturday. A duet, you think? The market will be busy, so we'll need something different to catch their attention."

"Yeah, 'cause you're hurting for attention..." Taira rolled her eyes dramatically and laughed. "Whatever it is you've got, I want some! People have been leaving the Houses just to watch you."

"Mmmm..." Zania looked pensive again. "Maybe you could bring your flute and we could add some music."

"Yeah, that sounds good...Are you alright?"

"Fine, I'm fine." She smiled. "I'm happier than I've ever been."

* * *

The Shan elders were surprised by the proposal of the Jinhai.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? Introducing an outsider girl?"

"Trust us, honored brothers. We will make sure it works to the best advantage."


	12. Observe

Hey!  
This little spot here just hit me. I've been piecing it together for some time, but I couldn't find the key. And then it just dropped out of the sky!  
Yay gravity!  
Oh and the last line is taken from After the Tragedy's "Choking on Shoelaces." Great song. Greater band.

R&R!

* * *

They had to choose carefully, gathering information from every possible place: the market, the palace, the villages, the underground...anywhere to find the perfect girl.

"There are a few prospects, good sir."

A smoky voice replied, slowly and deliberately. "I want them here in four days. Sunday, understand

"Yes, my lord. Of course."

* * *

Liro was in a panic. _So much is going to go wrong today. And there's nothing I can do about it_, he lamented as he finished setting out the fruit for the day.

The whole fiasco had begun with a visit from a cousin two nights before. He and Liro had been boyhood friends, how could he have not noticed Liro was thinking of a girl? His teasing gave Liro's parents plenty cause for suspicion; he had been acting so strangely lately.

Zania wouldn't be setting up until later in the day, perhaps which would be their saving grace.

* * *

After a small noon meal, she began the daily ritual she hated and loved. White paint over her face, crimson around her eyes, black to line her brows. Zania pinned her hair back into a knot, a single gold pin against the black. Liro had given it to her, a simple ornament of complex meaning.

She fastened the clasps about her wrist to secure the loose fabric and smiled. Tonight he was planning to close early and come to watch her. She donned the dark robe and headed out into the alleyway.

_So much is going to go right today!_

_So far, so good._

* * *

The observer had watched her stutter and stumble through her afternoon shopping. _Pretty, innocent, easy to manipulate…she'd be perfect._ She, surely not much older than fifteen, carefully selected a ripe red fruit and stammered her thanks as she paid. He casually walked nearer to her, to gather that last look at her features before approaching her.

He muttered a few choice curses; another man had woven his way to her and kissed her on the cheek before taking her basket.

_Married._

He sighed and joined the line for the fruit stand to mask anything suspicious he might had done. The seller seemed distracted, alternately stealing nervous glances across the square and at the elderly couple sitting in the shade behind his stand. With a soft chuckle, he paid for his snack and left to find a quiet place to watch.

* * *

Ozai trained harder than before. Day and night he trained, pushing himself past pain and exhaustion. Today, her face alone filled his eyes, for the sweat no longer seemed to exist. With each renewed attack on the training dummies, he murmured her name.

He no longer knew his goal. Was it her? Vengeance? Relief?

A teacher called out, asking him to stop. He didn't care. He kept on.

The heat of the sun joined the fire of his own creation. It bore upon him, but he would not relent. Attack.

Again.

Again.

Again.

His body gave in and collapsed. He lay on the ground, still lashing out at imagined opponents. "Ursa, Ursa," he whispered into their ears. "I fight for Ursa."

One last thought coursed his mind as Ozai fell into unconsciousness.

_If my heart could stop…this pain would not be here._


	13. Fragile

Sorry for the wait...Midterms and football can absolutely devour your time. :)  
Read and reply!

* * *

Her eyes flashed impatiently as she set another dance to the small tambourine in her hand. Sunset had already begun and Liro was still at his stand, without a single customer. There were two older people, a man and a woman, sitting back behind the wooden table. _But what should that have to do with anything? He promised he'd be watching by mid afternoon, that he wouldn't be late. Why would he break his promise to me?_

A few men in the crowd jumped back as the small ring of fire sparked angrily.

* * *

The observer silently joined the throng of men around the girl. She was beautiful, for what he could tell with the makeup and outfit. Those things were there to make her attractive; nobody could really know what she looked like. Crossing his arms, he threw a quiet question to the crowd: "What's the girl's name?"

Several looked at him like had asked the identity of the Fire Lord. One man spoke gruffly, never taking his eyes off the dancer, "Zania."

She was a good dancer and knew how to make his job difficult. He had trouble keeping his eyes studying her face. She was angry. And by the looks she kept giving the fruit stand across the way, she was angry with the nervous fruit seller.

* * *

Liro shifted. Zania had lowered her fire ring for a break. He could see it in her shoulders, how set they were, pulled back, chin up, eyes blazing. He glanced back to his parents behind him. _Oh, sh-_

A man had come up to the stand and ordered. She stood behind him in line. He felt rather than saw her fingers drumming on her folded arms.

The man left the stand with his purchase and Liro faced her.

"Ma'am? How...how can I help you?"

He prayed that Zania would see his parents and understand. But, alas. Her eyes had locked into his.

"You can start by making promises you'll keep."

"Zan--" He swallowed and looked back at his mother's keen stare. "Madam, I don't b-believe I know what you're, um, you're talking about."

Zania's eyes darkened. She had caught that glance."I'm sure you don't, _Master Farmer_."

She gave him one last look, hurt and angry, before turning away so that he wouldn't see the tears beginning to form. She walked straight home, her aching heart distracting her from the man following at a distance.

* * *

Once in her house, she pulled the hairpin out of her hair, her tears now coming as angry sobs. Zania began to yell at the ornament in her hand.

"What, I wasn't good enough for you? Not good enough to bring home to Mother...just some little mistress to keep on the side, your own personal plaything, worthless and disposable." She threw it against the wall. "Well, I don't care. You mean nothing to me, hear me? NOTHING!"

She collapsed on the floor, her anger pouring through her tears.

A knock at the door.

Zania looked up to see the ornament, broken in half, laying across the room.


	14. Alright

It's been a productive week! As always, thanks for reading and drop me a line!

* * *

Zania looked in the mirror, wiping her smeared makeup on a towel. She pulled her dark robe around her and cracked the door.

"Hello?"

* * *

Liro cursed under his breath. He was sure that he had done something wrong, but it just hadn't been a good time for them to talk. What was so bad about keeping it from his parents for a while? Did she really think it appropriate for him to just introduce her, dressed like that, to his mother?

The market was slowing for the night, so he began to place his produce in a large crate. His mother eyed him like a hawk.

"That whore is not good enough for you."

Liro forced himself to look at the fruit in his hands. _Dutiful son, dutiful son, dutiful son..._

Nobody spoke as he shouldered the crate and they walked home.

* * *

He peered through the cracked door. _Good,_ he observed. _She's been crying. This should make things easier._

"Miss Zania, I hate to intrude on you at a moment like this, but I may have a way to solve your problem with the fruit seller."

"I don't really know what you're talking about, sir. So, if you would just go, I think that would be best."

"He doesn't think you're good enough to meet his family, am I right?"

It was her eyes that betrayed her. They were a beautiful amber he had not been able to see from the crowd. The rest of her face was pretty enough, not anything outstanding or catching. But her eyes were so filled with anger and hurt, he could hardly tear his from their burning pain. Knowing that he held her in the palm of his hand was intoxicating.

"If you take my offer, I'll make sure you have the respect and standing needed to satisfy his family."

"What do you want?"

His eyes kept drinking in her weaknesses. It was so thrilling; her heart was hanging by a thread he controlled.

"_What_ do you want?" she repeated anxiously.

"Ah, my dear. Why don't we discuss this inside?"

She warily looked him up and down before opening the door a bit wider. "Come in...but don't try anything."

Zania watched the man enter her one-room apartment, afraid to hope. She offered him a seat upon the grass mat before sitting across the room from him. "Who are you?"

He gave a slight cough; he had not expected her to be so focused and direct. He handed her a signed letter. "I'm working for a wealthy man of the Shan. And they are looking for someone like you--a smart, pretty girl--to help his daughter win the affection of a nobleman."

She stared blankly at the paper in her hand. "How am I supposed to..."

"It will be explained in further detail, but the basic idea is for you to provide a contrast to her. You will be well paid and provided for. We will come up with a respectable reason for your absence and will give you an unquestionable status that will be sure to impress the farmer well."

Zania hesitated before asking, her head spinning. "So you want me to look bad to make _her_ look good. And you'll pay me for that?"

"Yes, but there could be a catch."

* * *

Ozai had collapsed during his morning training and the whole palace was in a frenzy. The Fire Lady sat worried in a small room outside his chamber door, her graying hair ruffled by her nervous hands.

"Mama?" Ila looked up with tired eyes to see her older son entering the room.

"Oh, Iroh...is he alright?"

"He'll be fine, just overexerted himself. Mom...I'm worried about him. He threa--..."

The door opened. "Your Highnesses, Young Miss Ursa requests to attend your presence."

Ila waved her hand, "Of course, let her come."

The teenage girl nearly ran into the room, stumbling as she bowed low before the door had even shut, tears still trickling from puffy eyes.

"Fire Lady Ila, Crown Prince Iroh. Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but I must know. Is Prince Ozai alright?"

* * *

"A catch," she echoed in a flat voice. "What kind of catch?"

"That will be decided when we meet with the elders. That is, if you will consent to join me." He watched those burning eyes muddle with indecision and dropped his voice to an encouraging whisper. "Miss Zania, look around you. His family would never approve of this. I'm offering you a way out. The price could be high at first, but I promise you will never have to dance on the streets again."

She cast her eyes about the small room--the mirror and makeup, the basket of fruit and the broken ornament.

* * *

Ozai slipped into consciousness. "...Young Miss Ursa..."

_Ursa!_

He peered out the cracked door to see her there, beautiful, bowing. Bowing to _him. Bowing to that filthy, thieving, backstabbing, worthless..._

His anger pushed him beyond his limits and he fell back into darkness.

* * *

Zania stood slowly and walked to where the ornament lay. Facing away from the stranger, she bent to place the pieces in her hand and caressed their smooth gold lines. _I just want to be good enough for you...I'm so sorry._

The strong, proud dancer spoke softly, "Alright. I'll go."


	15. Desires

I'm sorry it's been so long, guys! I hope this nice long chapter makes up for it. Fair warning...there's a reason this is rated T. Thanks for reading and drop a line!

:)Karynna

* * *

Her things were slung in a small sack across her back. Nothing much, just her hairbrush, a few coins, and... She shuddered to think of the pieces of gold lying in the bottom of the sack, neatly wrapped in worn blue velvet.

Even though they left in the darkness of a moonless night, Zania pulled her hood close around her. Her leaving the city would go unnoticed for a while; dancers disappeared all the time. Still, she wanted to hide from the way the very buildings seemed to accuse her of inadequacy.

"Here we are, Zania, get in." She looked up to see the unnamed man holding the door to a dark carriage. Numbly, she climbed inside and they drove away from her life.

* * *

Liro stared into the night and sighed, another hot tear coursing down his cheek. He could distantly hear the echo of his mother's voice.

"That whore is not good enough for you. That whore is not good enough for you. That whore is not good enough for you. That whore...whore is not good enough for you."

Liro pulled his hood close around him. He wanted to hide from the emptiness he felt closing around his heart as the images of her slowly filed before his eyes.

* * *

Zania trembled as she stood before who she took to be the Shan elders. They scrutinized her, whispering amongst themselves. She looked at the observer who had led her here, to this cold room full of rich old men. She felt naked in front of them and couldn't will her face to be still. It seemed like an eternity before one spoke.

"She's too pretty."

The observer snapped into wheedling mode, "We're willing...A scar perhaps?"

"Perhaps."

_A scar?!_ Zania's eyes dilated and her hands clenched. _When did I say I was willing for that?_

He kept bargaining. "She's very smart and a talented performer. She should be able to do her work well. She's your best choice." He threw a glance at the others lined against the wall--more young, trembling women and nervous, seedy men.

"That is for us to decide."

"Of course, of course. But in my humble opinion, honored sirs... This girl's got what you need. You need a witty, determined girl that has the ability to perform. She has no experience in court etiquette; she can charm a Komodo rhino; she's got talent beyond compare..."

Zania soon zoned out. She had a feeling that it was only too obvious to the elders how much the weasel-rat was embellishing. She only hoped it worked. An image of Liro came unbidden to the front of her mind.

* * *

Iroh sat with Ursa, drinking an afternoon tea. Her conversation was light, but distracted. The healers had yet to release Ozai from his chambers and she had grown anxious over the past two days. Iroh watched her ivory face as she rambled aimlessly.

"...and when we went to the beach, after my father burned some incense in the honor of grandfather Roku, we--"

"He's going to be fine, Ursa."

She looked up with tears in her eyes, quiet.

"I know you're worried, but he's going to be fine, I promise."

"Thank you, Your Highness."

* * *

His words chilled her to the bone. She couldn't believe he was actually serious about the scar.

"I'm so sorry, Zania. But..." His eyes pleaded with her. "Look, they're right. You're pretty. They want an unattractive girl; you can't draw away from the other girls."

"And a scar across my face would keep me from drawing attention away from them? You can't be serious."

"It'd be a controlled burn. You can even do it yourself," the observer's voice nearly breaking. "If you don't, you don't get the job, I don't get paid, and you go back to your man, penniless and still a lowly dancer. Please...both of our lives could hinge on this."

Zania stared into the darkness of the side room. She had been selected among five other girls. Something had to set her apart.

* * *

He had heard them talking into the night. Lying useless on his extravagant bed, Ozai couldn't make out their quiet words, but their laughter needed no clarification. He was restless the next morning, his eyes nervously following every visitor to his room. He argued weakly that he should be allowed out of bed, but with his mother and the healers bustling around the room, there was no escape.

Around midday, Iroh entered the room with a polite knock. One look at his younger brother's face told him that his whispered threat still stood between them. Iroh sighed and looked out the window. "How are you today, little brother?"

A hiss replied, "Get out."

"What is _wrong_ with you? Ever since the festival, you've been out of it, Ozai. What happ--"

"Get out!"

* * *

Zania's vision blurred mercilessly and her feet had trouble finding the ground. She felt somebody helping her into a chair, a stool set before a beautiful mirror. Looking back at her were her own amber-brown eyes, sharp against the fuzzy room. There were hands around her shoulders, a murmur of encouragement in her ear. She tried so hard to bring her surroundings into focus, but all she could see was her own face, anxious, indecisive.

"Come on now, sweetheart. The quicker, the better. The numbness will be wearing off soon and the healer's paid by the hour."

Her hand moved of its own accord, boldly approaching her face. A flicker of light enveloped the pale thing shaking before her eyes. Frightened, she looked to the only thing she saw clearly and remembered her resolve.

A whisper.

A gasp.

A scream.

* * *

"No. Not until this is over."

Ozai moved quicker than he should have, out of bed in an instant and staggering to his brother, breathing heavily, face contorting in fury. "You...you _traitor_...I had no other...no other...desire...traitor..."

He motioned wildly to the door and the sky, his accusations fading against Iroh's call for help. The healers burst through the door, irreverently clasping the shoulders of the mad Prince and guiding his weak, protesting body to the bed. Iroh gave one last bewildered look at his brother before leaving in search of something stronger than tea.

* * *

"She went through with it? Good, good..." The wizened faces nodded slowly. "Will she be ready by tomorrow?"

"Yes, my lords. She's healing very quickly," replied the weaselly observer.

"Good. Tell her she'll be leaving in the morning. And make sure she rests in the sunlight. We want her to be as strong as possible."

"Yes, my lords. If you will allow me, I will go to her now."

"Allowed."

The sniveler left the large room quickly; the elders made him nervous. As he entered the room where she was sleeping, her eyes squinted open curiously before closing in agony. He turned away. The burn on her face was revolting, but nothing compared to the performance of the act itself.

He shuddered as he remembered the drugged girl raise her burning hand to her face, leaving a trail of blood and blistering skin across her left cheekbone and down past her jaw line. An acrid smell filled the room as she whispered the name of the fruit farmer and pressed her sacrifice her face. The healer's assistant had gasped in horror as they bore witness to the gruesome scene. These things had bothered the observer; indeed, he would remember them into his old age.

But it was the shrill "NO!" escaping her lips as he pulled her hand away that would haunt him to his final breath.

He turned to look upon Zania with mixed terror and pity. _What have we done?_


	16. Waiting

Sorry for the wait. I fully intended to have this up earlier, but personal issues drained me. So, I'm very very sorry! Tell me what you think! Thanks for reading!

* * *

The other girls weren't sure what to make of her at first. All at once beautiful and repulsive, she stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the daughters of the Shan. There were but eight of them, nine including the burned one, and each was quite certain she would be the future wife of a Fire Lord. None of the girls was a remarkable woman--some prettier, some wittier, but each was quite certainly very much the same as her cousins. They all crowded around the intruder in a mockery of friendship and sisterhood. They knew why she was with them; they knew they needed her; they would convince her it was all for the best.

Zania squinted in the bright light of the sun shimmering through the embrace of her "cousins." She gasped in pain; the action pulled at the tender, tight skin of the scar forming across the right side of her face. One of the girls backed off in surprise, afraid they had hurt her with their attention.

"Girls!" exclaimed the one, clearly the eldest. "Back away! We do not wish to harm our new sister." A few giggled mischievously as they all pulled away. The eldest tsked at the Shan girls before laying a concerned hand on Zania's shoulder. "Are you alright, cousin Iza?"

The dancer's face showed momentary surprise before registering the name. _Iza...that's your name now, Zania. Iza. Iza..._ She blinked to spite her pain. "I'm perfectly alright, dear cousin."

The ridiculous charade was necessary.

* * *

"The women of the Shan should be arriving in two weeks, Prince Iroh. For an entire month, your schedule will be devoted to spending time acquainting with your prospective wives. Will you agree to this change in routine?"

"Yes, my Lord Azulon," came Iroh's subdued reply.

"You have a reservation, my son?"

"I humbly accept Lord Azulon's instruction, though I humbly request time allotted for academic study, training and...personal reflection."

The fire before the throne flickered joyfully and the Fire Lord's deep chuckle resonated in the stone room. "We find this request to be wise considering the nature of the...ah...social activity planned for the coming month. We would like to see our son remain sane and stable throughout the process of courtship."

* * *

Blankly, she watched the other girls flitter about, thumbing through their old gowns to help their new cousin form a wardrobe. Some came and measured her figure; some commented on what colors would clash with her coloring. Zania couldn't care less what they brought to her, her mind wandered freely through the past, trying to recollect her role in their intricate play.

"Orange will look atrocious! Do you have any more?"

The elders had come to her early the morning she left the observer. They gave her a new name and a new history.

Shan Iza was the orphaned daughter of lowly Shan nobles. Clumsy and uneducated, she had insisted on being included as one of the eligible Shan daughters. Though Shan Iza could bend, she did so very poorly and had no court etiquette to speak of. The burn was a recent accident, a testament to her inadequacy.

"Bring that robe over here and I'll show you. That will look far too attractive on her."

Zania had listened as well as she could, but her taxed body had kept her brain from functioning well. Try as she might, Zani--Iza could not remember the names of her parents or her household or even the man she was "attempting" to woo.

"She's so thin, none of our clothes will fin properly. _What a shame!_ Prince Iroh will never be able to see her true shape!"

An alarm went off in Za--Iza's weary mind, but it soon passed into the shadow of the alarm sounded by one of the girls brushing her sleeve across Iza's face. Iza sleepily slapped the arm away, and was sharply reprimanded by the eldest.

"Honestly, Iza! We're trying to _help_ you."

* * *

Iroh drank in those last two weeks as though they were the last bit of life he had left. Maybe they were. He and Zhao went out nightly, finding any sort of distraction they could. Liquor and firedancers quickly erased the lumbering shadow of the upcoming month.

"Ssssure take your mind off things, don't they?" slurred Zhao.

Iroh nodded his agreement as he watched the performers. Rorzan's House was definitely the best in the business. There were seven beautiful girls before them, dancing and chanting in the firelight. Rorzan had personally chosen his best for the two noblemen and they both appreciated the gesture. As the tallest swayed over to Iroh, he took in every inch of her body. Her bare feet hit the ground in rhythm. Her hips fell, side to side, the rich fabric clinging and flowing. Her hands were surrounded with the slightest bit of flame as they artistically wove around her body. Her hair streamed from its golden clips and bands.

Something struck Iroh briefly before she reached him. Her eyes never met his. Not once did his eyes connect with any of those belonging to the dancers. _Zania did_. But the thought was brief as the wine and the women again took him from his worries.

* * *

Iza bowed her head respectfully before the elders.

"How have your lessons been, Shan Iza?"

"They have been instructive, honored ones."

"Will you be able to perform your tasks, child?"

"Yes, honored ones."

They turned their attention to the other girls. It had been two weeks with them, and still, Iza had not been able to remember their names. The eldest was the only one she could really distinguish from the rest of them anyway.

The eldest was Iza's pick for winning the Prince's heart. She knew the most about the silly little table arrangements and Fire Nation history and all those other things Iza was supposed to botch. All those things that would win the hand of the Prince.

Iza shuddered involuntarily. _That_ had been a shock. Goodness, she had almost fainted to hear who it was they were courting. She vividly remembered the day they had met; it was the same day she met Liro. But she said nothing. It would have all been for nothing if they knew, and she would never be able to face Liro again.

Besides, even she couldn't recognize the ugly girl in the mirror.


	17. Distant

What's this? Two updates in a week?? Crazy talk...crazy talk!  
R&R, thanks!

* * *

The palace had been scrubbed, floor to ceiling. Nine extravagant, empty living chambers were suddenly alive with activity, servants scurrying in and out with mops and fresh linens. Gardens were pruned. Exotic fish were stocked in the fountains. Extra servants were hired. Dressmakers were put on call.

The entire city was ready for the arrival of the Prince's nine beautiful prospects. Rumors flew, growing more ridiculous with each pair of lips and ears they crossed. One was prettier than a sunset. One was already engaged. One was wanted for murder. One was half-mad and roamed the halls crying. Gossipers and gawkers lined the streets in preparation for the coming parade of women. All were ready to witness the encounter.

All but two.

Iroh's neck itched in the horribly high collar his mother had forced him to wear. His arguments had been in vain. Nothing he would say would change the Lady's mind. So he sat stiffly with his family on the balcony, suffering from the itch. He exhaled markedly, looking at his smiling mother.

"Nervous, son?" She all but laughed at the way he subtly wriggled his neck. Ila put a smooth hand on Iroh's. "You look_ fantastic_, my darling."

Ozai sniffed. All he wanted was for this to be over. For some gorgeous girl to come, for Iroh to marry her, and for Ursa to give up on Iroh. He had been relieved to find out that she was not among those chosen to court his brother, but suspicion lurked in every corner of his mind. They had been all too friendly while Ozai had been recovering, and, though many nobles had come to wish him well, she had never visited. All she did was sit in the side chamber and talk to Iroh.

This marriage thing wasn't coming fast enough.

* * *

Iza felt silly with court makeup across half her face. The makeup artists had tried to apply paint to the young scar, but no amount would hide that thing. Her hair had been pulled up into a delicate looking arrangement. In truth, the only thing delicate, was Iza's terrorized scalp. She laid a hand at her temple, trying to ease the pain, but her attendant slapped her hand away.

"Don't mess with it, Miss," she warned. "They'll just have to redo it."

Iza grimaced at the thought. There was no way she'd survive a second round of that. She folded her hands around a broken ornament in her lap, fervently wishing she were anywhere but there, in the fancy palanquin, on the stupid parade to the palace. People were everywhere, calling out to her, cheering her on, trying to catch a glimpse of her. They'd have to wait. The curtains would remained closed until each of the nine arrived in the plaza to meet Prince Iroh.

Gaging by the slowed pace of the process, they wouldn't have to wait long.

Iza wanted to wait for the rest of her life.

* * *

The itch left his mind as nine ornate carriers entered the square. Iroh looked at all the frivolous ceremony with chagrin. He had nothing to celebrate.

_This is it. The end of my life._

The footmen rushed to help the women down from their lofty perches and the city got their first look at them. One by one, they all stepped forward to the carpet set out for them. As one, they bowed low, the sunlight glinting off of the jewelry and silk. As one, they rose, Iroh seeing his future wife for the first time.

Whichever one that would be.

* * *

Iza immediately froze as the Prince's eyes drifted over the girls. She knew he wouldn't recognize her, but being under his gaze made her nervous. All she had heard for the past two weeks had been "Prince Iroh this" and "Prince Iroh that." Those girls had idolized him, being in his presence made them all fluttery. Iza just felt cold and empty, like her mind was separate from her soul and all she could do was watch her life go by.

She stared at the ground. In each hand was a piece of that golden ornament. She had been meaning to fix it for some time. All it would take was a little flame, but since she scarred herself, Iza couldn't bring herself to Firebend. So the pieces remained pieces, unable to fuse because she couldn't feel enough to bend.

Numbly, she followed the other girls into the palace. It was time for her to start performing.

* * *

Iroh's first impression of the girls was that they were nothing special. From a distance, all but the last one looked quite similar. The third one from the left was a bit taller than the rest. The girls on either side of her were a bit pudgy. But that last one was the one that stood out the most. Her face seemed to have some sort of birthmark across the side of it. Other than that, the garish robes and showy hairstyles were the same.

These girls were definitely a long way from their backwoods homes.

* * *

The palace was overwhelming. Tall ceilings and rich draperies made the place intimidating. All of the girls gasped politely, as though there were some sort of etiquette for being impressed. As they reached the main corridor, servants appeared out of nowhere to lead them to their chambers.

Iza forced herself to pay attention to the turns they made. It wasn't too hard if she made a note of where they took yet another side hall. Their rooms were in the westernmost wing and, one by one, the girls disappeared into their new homes with a contented sigh.

The last door at the end of the hall was Iza's stop. The door revealed a rich carpet and an elaborate bed. Huge windows were covered with heavy curtains. Iza looked around, unsure of what to do. Mirrors on every wall cruelly reflected her confused face. The servant murmured something about welcomes and how her luggage was already put away in the wardrobes before bowing and leaving.

Iza stood helpless in the middle of the room, the ornament still in her hands. With a cry of despair, she sunk to the floor and wept. There was no turning back now.


	18. Choking

Servants soon came to disturb Iza's solitude with dresses and baths and getting ready for dinner. Before she knew what was happening, they had stripped her and forced her into scalding hot water, scrubbing and washing. The scent of perfume reached her nose and Iza choked on the overpowering smell. Someone roughly it her on the back and she started breathing again.

She regained her senses when they tried to dress her with a beautiful set of robes, one that she hadn't brought. "No, no," she protested, "I'd really prefer to wear one of mine."

"Most humbly, Lady, but we were told to dress you—"

"I _will_ wear one of my own," interrupted Iza. As they reluctantly brought out the garish orange dress, she fought to regain composure. This was her job, looking bad. And she was going to do her best.

* * *

The royal family sat primly at the head of the semicircle tale as the girls stood impatiently on the other side of the door leading into the room. It was to be a relatively intimate dinner, with only the family and the women present.

Strangely, Iroh felt a bit excited. Not much. But a small part of him was not so reluctant to meet these women. Just a small part.

So when the procession of introductions began, Iroh felt a little less uncomfortable about meeting his future wife.

The ladies were introduced from youngest to oldest. Each girl bowed low upon entering and took her place at the table to wait for the others. Iroh carefully tried to memorize their names with their faces. It proved to be slightly less difficult that he originally thought it would be. From a distance, their differences were much less noticeable. They were all of about the same height and build, but with closer inspection, they were not identical after all.

Polite conversation carried throughout the dinner, the awkwardly overly civil kind somewhat expected upon meeting a family with such power and importance. Still, one girl seemed to have little experience in etiquette.

At this range, it was apparent that what had seemed to be a birthmark was indeed a wicked, recent-looking burn. _Perhaps it addled her mind a bit…_ Iroh mused as he heard her slurp from her soup bowl yet again. He felt his father cringe with the girl's lack of poise and he, too, was surprised that even a family as backwoods as the Shan would send her to compete.

* * *

Iza did all she could to keep from gagging. The sound of her slurping was really starting to turn her stomach, no matter how delicious the soup. Only the feel of worn velvet against her breastbone kept her from vomiting all over the Fire Lord himself.

_Though that would be a nice touch._

She saw the younger prince staring at her with open disgust. She smiled at him timidly, a piece of vegetable stuck on one of her front teeth. A nudge from the eldest, Jiao, informed her that she was slightly overdoing it.

"Shan Jiao, who made those earrings for you?" asked the Fire Lady. "They're quite beautiful.'

With the proper inclination of her head and the faintest hint of a blush, the eldest replied, "They are a family heirloom, My Lady; jewels for the eldest daughter of a generation."

The mouths of the other girls all turned downward a bit at that subtle reminder of who was the first and most treasured of their family. All except Iza, who gracelessly dropped a chopstick on the floor.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry! I can't believe how clumsy I am! Please forgive me, Your Excellent Majesty Royalnesses!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with both shame and laughter.

"Please, Shan Iza. Do not worry yourself over something so trivial." The Fire Lord's voice was constrained, as though the patience was forced. His hand made a small motion and a servant came to pick up the runaway chopstick, replacing it with another.

"I'm so embarrassed! Dropping a chopstick in the Royal Palace! I'm such an id—."

"Cousin Iza, please calm yourself. His Lordship just pardoned you," commanded Jiao with all the air of an elder sibling. She turned to the royal family. "Cousin Iza is a bit of a klutz, I'm afraid. But we all have our…faults, don't we, Iza?"

"We sure do," agreed Iza with an apologetic shrug and smile.

* * *

Iroh nearly choked on his soup, trying to keep from laughing. _Excellent Majesty Royalnesses? This is going to be better than I thought._

He heard his brother choke as well, but Iroh knew that Ozai was most definitely not laughing. It had been so long since he had seen his brother laugh… Iroh gave himself a quick feeble shake. _Think of something else. Their names…What are their names?_

Iroh looked around the table, counting off the girls. Cai, the youngest and most childlike of them all. Zan, with golden lotuses in her hair and smug lips. Zi, with the obnoxious laugh and pudgy fingers. Her sister, Zhin, with her dragon-like face and her eyes lingering on anything shiny. Rong, who looked and talked like a boy. Suyin, with frizzy hair trying to escape its bindings. Rou, whose few words betrayed little intelligence. Jiao, charming, lovely, witty and seemingly perfect.

And Iza. Scarred, gawky Iza.


	19. Pretend

Two updates two days in a row? What in the world:D R&R, please. Thanks for reading!

* * *

After the dinner, the Shan girls were summoned to meet with an organizer, who told them that the next month were dedicated to private meetings with Prince Iroh. The girls would be drawing numbers for their allotted times spent with him on the weekdays. There would be a banquet at the end of every week, the most grand being the one at the end, where the Prince would announce his choice.

Giving a disappointed sigh, Rong drew the first slot. Second would be Suyin, followed by Zi, Zan, Cai, Rou, Jiao, Zhin, and Iza. With false smiles, they all reassured each other of how wonderful they all were. Iza stood alone.

As the girls filtered out, Jiao remained behind, her black eyes glistening with rage. She backed Iza into the corner. "You embarrassed me and the Shan. Either learn how to perform your job or leave. I will not have you jeopardizing my chance with him."

"I was merely acting on the orders of your family," replied Iza sweetly. "Surely you cannot hold that against me."

"You overdid it, you stupid little tramp!" Jiao cried, her finger pressing into Iza's collar. Her other hand rose, poising to slap the other girl. She drew back her arm, but faltered when she saw something break through Iza's countenance. Something terrifyingly strong and willful. But the moment passed and Iza was Iza again and Jiao's hand fell solidly on the left side of the scarred girl's face.

* * *

Normally, Iroh was up with the sun, ready to begin his day. This morning, however, he childishly pulled the covers over his head in protest of the dawn. He did _not_ want to spend the day with any of those girls.

He swore as a servant meekly popped his head in to awaken him.

"I'm up!" he growled grumpily as he rolled out of bed and put on his training clothes. _At least they allowed me this, _he thought as he left the room to train.

The two hours of solitude and fire passed too quickly and Iroh found himself across the table from the very boyish looking Rong.

"So," he began, fervently wishing he were anywhere else. "Do you bend?"

"Yes," replied a gruff, low voice.

"Right."

Rong's eyes peered at the Prince curiously. "Do you swordfight?"

Iroh returned a curious gaze. "I do."

"Lucky."

The rest of the morning passed with terse questions and answers, mostly about fighting and swords. By the time she left, Iroh decided that he rather liked Rong, but she would make a better drinking buddy than a wife.

* * *

Iza looked thoughtfully in the mirror for the first time since arriving in the palace. Her scar seemed to be healing better than she thought it would. The edges around the burn were returning to the color of the rest of her face, but the center, near her cheekbone, was still crimson red.

The palace servants had given her an ointment to help heal it, but Zania wasn't sure if she wanted to. Iza wanted it gone, but Zania relished the idea of Liro softly kissing the damaged skin, praising and thanking her for what she went through to be his bride. Iza hated the sight of the scar and the pain it caused her, but Zania was stronger today and the ointment was left untouched.

Instead, her hands went to the velvet pouch around her neck, to pull out the broken ornament. She gingerly placed the two pieces together. Iza felt the sun splashing across her back and Zania reached for its energy. She wanted to repair the little thing, to know that it could be fixed. If it could, it gave her heart hope that it could be mended.

But, try as she might, neither Zania nor Iza could light a fire.

* * *

The next girl was unbearable.

Suyin's eyes darted across the garden with unfounded anxiety. Her voice had all the loveliness of a Komodo Rhino after a fight with a dragon. Thin and piercing, it ravaged Iroh's ears mercilessly with gossip and chatter.

Iroh prayed for deafness that never came. She talked about her home and her little sister and her clothes and her grandmother and her cousins and the grass and the palace and the service. If only that had been the tip of the iceburg.

Four hours he sat with that girl. Four hours of pure, unadulterated noise. He tried everything to tune her out—counting leaves, mentally reciting ballads, twiddling his thumbs, burning little pieces of paper between his hands… Nothing helped. Iroh suffered in silence, deciding that the next time they met, they would be eating or something else to keep her blasted mouth shut.

* * *

Four old men sat in a quiet room, listening to a young servant boy.

"…dropped her chopstick and apologized like a commoner. She called them something ridiculous like Excellent Majestic Wonderment or something dumb like that."

The oldest man pressed further. "What was the Prince's reaction?"

"I think he thought it was funny."

"Good. Anything else of note?"

"No, sir."

"Thank you. Return to your post."

"Yes, My Lord."

As the boy left the room, the elders of the Jinhai looked at each other in delight. The plan was working.

* * *

The next few days seemed to drag on for Iroh, who patiently endured the flattery and frivolity of silly girls. After Suyin, they all seemed a bit more bearable, but none really fit what he was looking for, not that he knew what that was. Jiao was the loveliest, for sure, and he enjoyed her company, but something about her worried him. Still, she was the frontrunner by the end of the week, and with one girl left, Iroh was ready for the next day of rest before that night's banquet.

Iza timidly opened the door to the library and Iroh's breath caught. _Goodness, that girl can't dress well to save her life._

The nearly fluorescent orange of her robe almost gave out a light of its own, one that made Iza look like a sickly carrot. She gave him a smile lopsided by the scar on her face and, without invitation, came to sit at the table with him.

"Hello, Prince Iroh!" she said brightly.

"Hello, Lady Iza," he replied. "It's a pleasure to see you today. Have you enjoyed living here?"

"I'd say so. Do you like it here?"

He tried not to laugh. She seemed so sincerely out of place that she probably didn't realize how many protocols she had completely ignored. "Yes, I do. And I'm glad to hear that your accommodations are adequate."

"Um, thanks?" she answered, obviously confused. Her body stiffened and she pulled her hands to her face. "Pardon this, please, sir." Iza sneezed. It sounded like a horn.

"Here," he said, handing her a handkerchief. "I'd like to get to know you better, Iza. They tell me that the purpose of these meetings is to acquaint myself with my future wife."

"Future wife? Me?" exclaimed Iza with surprise. "That's a silly idea. Jiao is so much better than me. Any of them are."

"Isn't that my job to decide?" Iroh asked, laughing. "So. Do you have any special talents? Bending, art, dancing, singing?"

Something foreign clouded Iza's face, an incredible sadness. Her voice strained to sound sunny, but the darkness of her heart shone much brighter. "I can bend. Not well, but I can." She then muttered something that sounded like, "I think."


	20. Banquet

This is my favorite chapter yet. Happy super extended birthday to AneleTiger. And thanks for the reviews, everybody. I promise your questions will be answered, but keep asking! You may ask one that I need to ask, but hadn't thought of yet.  
So, here's to three updates in four days and to all those awkward prom dates out there. I empathize. This is for you.

Karynna

* * *

Iza had won that night. The smell of ointment still lingered when she woke the next morning. Feeling the sun rise, she lazily stretched her arms towards the black canopy above her. Nothing felt better than silk and sunrise and the luxury of both was enough to make her feel deliciously satisfied. But those feelings don't last long when sunlight reminded her of how she couldn't bend.

She frowned, trying to focus on something else. The Prince had seemed to like her and that was not supposed to happen. The time they had spent together had been taxing for her, doing anything she could to make him recoil. But, apparently his years of court training kept him from reacting too horribly to her antics.

Iza finally threw the blanket off and went to draw her bath. That was something that she had learned to love about this high end life. _But, _she thought with a twisted smile, _it's the only thing different between this life and the one I used to know. Still somebody's fool, still lying, still performing._

* * *

It was her voice that caught his attention. Stuck somewhere between an enchanting lilt and a mesmerizing drawl, she shyly said good morning and asked for a basket of his best fruit.

"For the palace," she murmured with a bashful smile.

"The palace?" echoed Liro. "My luck has definitely taken a turn for the better, hasn't it?"

She laughed nervously, her eyes meeting his through her long eyelashes. She was so sweet and timid, nothing like—

_Stop it. Stop it._

"Mister? Is something wrong?"

_Move. On._ "No, just lost track of where I was for a moment." He smiled. "Call me Liro."

Brown eyes sparkled. "Nuying."

* * *

Banquets were, surprisingly, one of Iroh's favorite things. Something about the ceremony of it all amused him. Watching the oldest of the court dance, their bones mercilessly creaking as they twirled about the floor, was usually good for a laugh. And he had always loved music.

Nine young women would be the guests of honor, but they would all be unescorted. Iroh was expected to dance with all of them. He smiled thinking of what he'd sent to Iza. The woman in charge of caring for the Shan girls had told him that she had refused to wear what they had given her. He hoped that his suggestion would not be treated the same way.

Iza baffled him. Their time the day before had given him the distinct impression that she didn't want him to know who she was.

Jiao scowled when she saw Iza in the scarlet kimono. Though the color brought out the scar, it fit all too well.

"What _are_ you thinking?" she hissed, trying not to attract attention.

"I'm toning it down a bit. Besides, he told me to wear it," answered Iza, quite calmly. "Don't worry, Shan Jiao. I assure you that he is not the man I want to spend the rest of my life with."

A servant informed the girls that their announcement was about to take place. Jiao gave Iza a warning glance before assuming a charming smile. Iza turned away, knowing she couldn't let that girl get to her. She was here for one reason. And he worked in a fruit stand.

Iza jumped as Zhin tapped her shoulder. "Yes?"

"Trade earrings with me."

Iza's eyebrows twisted in surprise. "What?"

"I want your earrings. Trade. Now." Zhin's face was set in greed and Iza sighed, taking her earrings off and trading them for the ostentatious pair Zhin gave her in return.

* * *

Ozai cringed as the music began. He would be expected to dance, something he did not look forward to in the least. His mother caught his eye and she deliberately mouthed "Dance, Ozai."

So he found himself slowly standing up from his seat. Ursa wouldn't be there that night, and he dreaded looking for a partner. He knew where his mother expected him to go, though, and he decided to just get this over with. He approached the table for the guests of honor, the Shan girls. He bowed deeply to the only girl there.

"Shan Iza, I would be honored if you joined me to dance."

She stood and bowed awkwardly. "Of course I'll dance with you."

* * *

Iroh had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

"What's so funny?" asked a sweet voice.

He looked back down at his dance partner. "Merely enjoying the scene, Lady Jiao."

Still, he slowly led them nearer to his brother and Iza. He could see that they were talking—a conversation he would _pay_ to listen to. Fortunately he wouldn't have to; he had gotten close enough.

"Your earrings are strange."

"Thank you. You're very charming, aren't you, Your Greatness?"

Iroh could hear the scowl in his brother's voice. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing, Your Royalness."

Jiao began to hum along with the song, trying to bring his focus back to her. It worked—the girl had no sense of tone. She sighed pointedly.

"That poor girl. She's an orphan, you know, and I think that's affected her badly. She showed great promise as a bender when she was little, but after they died, her talent just…well, you've seen the scar on her face. The elders didn't want her to come here, but," Jiao looked at the girl with a motherly smile. "I convinced them to let her come. I couldn't bear to see her left behind like that."

Iroh was stunned. He had guessed that something had gone horribly wrong for Iza, but…_I guess now I know why she was so unhappy when we talked about bending._ "Thank you for doing that, Lady Jiao. She seems to be happy here; that was very kind of you."

"I only did what was right, Prince Iroh," said Jiao, elated to receive such praise. "It would have killed her to be left out and I just could not stand to see my poor cousin be unhappy. I suppose charity is one of my faults."

The music ended and he bowed to his partner. "Lady, as much as I'd rather not, I'm afraid I must dance with the other daughters of the Shan."

She giggled demurely as she returned his bow. "Of course you do, My Lord. Please. Don't ignore them on my account. Not yet, anyway." They both chuckled at her jokingly false arrogance.

Iroh left her quickly, looking for Iza. She and Ozai hadn't moved much since Jiao had commanded his attention. Ozai seemed to be frustrated; Iza seemed quite pleased with herself. Iroh gave them a short bow. "May I have this next dance, Shan Iza?"

"Please take her," replied Ozai, half under his breath. "If you ever do one thing for me, you'll get her away from me."

Iza's eyes slid suspiciously towards the younger Prince but accepted Iroh's hand with ludicrous enthusiasm. As the next dance began, Iroh found himself unable to talk to her. Indeed, he could do nothing but look at her with burning sympathy and questions.

"Thanks for the dress thing."

Iroh's thoughts jolted to the garment. "Do you like it, Lady?"

"It's nice. I kinda like orange better, though."

He laughed as he pushed her out away from him to take in the sight of her. His lips pursed at the sight of a strange lump in her bosom. Iza noticed his gaze.

"Mister Prince Iroh?" Iroh's eyes snapped to hers. "Oh, lovely. You found my face," she said, her mouth twitching with laughter.

"I'm very sorry, Lady Iza. I do not mean to be rude. It's just that something seems to be…" He coughed lightly. "There seems to be something in your kimono."

"My _what_?" her eyes widening in the shock of what she seemed to take as an insult.

"Your dress thing."

"Oh," she said, blushing. "That's what it's called, then."

Iroh began to watch her again as she hastily changed the subject to how fast Komodo Rhinos were in comparison to ostrich-horses. The shadow he had seen the day before again covered her face. Her eyes met his for only brief seconds, resting somewhere in the expanse of the ceiling for the remaining time. They were a beautiful dark amber gold, like sunlight pouring through brown glass.

It was only when she bowed and left him that he realized what a graceful dancer she was.


	21. Bending

Thanks for all the reviews! I've never had so many on one chapter before! Eight? Can you believe that? And forty three over all? This is so cool!  
Okay, little girl moment over. Again, thanks to all of you for reading. I just reread the whole thing again, and I had never realized how much I just don't like those first few chapters. One day, I'd like to rewrite them and make them readable, but thanks for continuing with me!

Karynna

* * *

"How's the wife search going?" asked Zhao at breakfast the next day.

Iroh sighed. "I hope you never get married."

Zhao laughed. "That bad, huh?" He shook his head at Iroh's exasperated face. "Come on…nine girls fawning over you can't be all that horrible."

"They're driving me up the wall!" exclaimed Iroh, his frustration exploding. "It's like they plan on it, like they sit there and scheme to irritate me. Rong of them is practically a man; Cai's still a child; Zi eats more than I do; Suyin talks incessantly; Rou's dumber than a brick; Zan's a spoiled brat; Zhin is greedier than a fishwife. It's torture."

Seven fingers were raised from Zhao's hands. "You missed a couple, Iroh."

"Jiao and Iza." The Prince's eyes closed. "They're the most aggravating of all."

* * *

One hand stretched toward the sky, the other the ground. One swift movement brought them together, circling each other as they pulled apart to the sides.

No fire.

Zania tried every move she knew—kicks, spins, punches, breaths. Not one worked. Iza tried to pull power from the world around her, reaching for everything from the blistering sun to a flickering candle. Not one worked.

She yelled in frustration. Bending had been her constant companion, her vent, her pride, for her whole life. She had been pretty good, capable of managing up to seven glowing ribbons of light twirling around her. Many had complimented on the occasional shower of blue sparks that wove through the flame as she danced. Fire had been her identity and her lifeblood.

But now she was alone. Completely alone. Or so she thought.

"Shan Iza?"

Iza turned to see a young lady of the court, about thirteen or so, standing under the doorway to the small training area. The girl's pale gold eyes were filled with concern and curiosity.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" asked Iza, self conscious in a sweat stained training outfit.

"Lady Ursa," replied the girl. "Are you okay, Lady? I thought I heard somebody yell. Was that you?"

"Yeah. It was. And I'm fine. Just frustrated."

Ursa nodded; she knew the feeling. Timidly, she asked Iza another question. "Lady Iza? Did you really dance with Prince Ozai?"

It was the girl's face that gave it away—she liked, maybe loved, the younger Prince. Zania felt for the girl as Iza answered, "Yeah, I did. Don't think he liked me though. I'm not exactly his type, I think."

The girl's face broke into a shy smile. "He doesn't like most people. I like you though. Anybody brave enough to wear a scar like you do deserves respect. You're very courageous, Shan Iza. Best wishes."

* * *

Iza was taken aback and barely thought to return a bow as the young girl left the doorway.

The week passed slowly for Iroh; each hour spent with the Shan girls seemed to drag on through eternity. Only the time with Jiao and Iza wasn't entirely tortuous.

He and Jiao met in a formal parlor this time. She gracefully poured him a cup of tea, slyly angling her body to its best advantage. Iroh smiled; the subtle flirting of the court was something he was familiar with and could understand. It was Iza's brazen personality and ignorance of protocol that mystified him.

Jiao's pretty mouth formed a shy smile. "Prince Iroh, I hear that you are an excellent Firebender. Are the rumors true?"

"I do possess some measure of talent," he replied modestly. "But perhaps one day you may judge for yourself."

"I would relish the honor," she replied, her eyelashes coyly fluttering. "Maybe we could train together one day? I do not bend, but I have practiced the motions. Firebending is so eloquent and beautiful."

Iroh smiled in return. Jiao was a pretty girl—slender and well-formed. It would be a pleasure to watch her slink her way through Firebending stances. "Perhaps tomorrow morning, then, My Lady?"

Triumphant was the only word Iroh could find to describe Jiao's face. "If you wish, My Lord," she answered. "But—if you would be so kind as to listen to a humble woman's request—I would prefer it if the other girls could be invited to attend. To be fair, of course."

He chuckled. "I'm a fan of fairness."

* * *

Iza shifted uncomfortably on the hot sand. Jiao had informed her the night before that she would attend the group training that morning and that she would perform poorly, but insignificantly so.

Only three girls had chanced to train with the Prince. Jiao, Iza and Rong stood in the training ring waiting for him, each wearing an outfit suited to her. Jiao's was loose and modest, but the fabric clung to the curves to her body, especially when covered in sweat. Iza wore old, worn clothes that neither flattered her form nor allowed for easy bending. Rong might have been wearing a man's clothing.

Iroh seemed to notice all of this as he entered the ring. Iza envied the way he stood so confidently; she was shaking with fear. For two weeks she had been trying to bend, though she supposed the deficiency carried back to the night she… Her hand unconsciously reached up to her face, finding the skin no longer sensitive and painful, but unfeeling and strangely disconnected from her body.

A rumbling chuckle woke her from her reverie; Jiao had made the Prince laugh. The amusement still tinged his voice when he asked if everyone was ready to begin. At a sharp glance from Jiao, Iza nodded. Rong looked like she was born ready.

They started with stretches, preparing for the next hour of fighting. Iroh admired how easily Jiao and, surprisingly, Iza performed, though Rong's stiff movements had a power of their own. After the stretching, Iroh led the girls through a series of drills. Focusing more on his own bending, he didn't notice that Rong's short, powerful burst of fire was the only other bending going on.

At least, not initially.

Iza had no idea the Prince had begun to watch her; she kept rolling through the motions until Jiao's impatient huff reminded her where she was. Stopping, she hung her head with shame as he approached her. Jiao's eyes were black with jealousy and Rong seemed annoyed at the interruption in practice.

But Iroh's voice was gentle. "I thought you could bend, Lady Iza," he said, tipping her chin up with his fingers. "Is something wrong?"

Terrified, Iza looked to Jiao, who scowled. No help there. "Just been having trouble lately. No big deal, really. I'm not all that good."

The golden-brown of the Prince's eyes seemed to linger on her face for just a moment too long, concern and confusion plain in their depths. Iza looked away, unable to stand the memories flooding back of the last time a man looked at her like that.

Iroh seemed to sense her reluctance to talk about bending and restarted the practice session. He would spend the afternoon with her anyway. Maybe he could get her to talk then.

* * *

Nuying was back, this time for mangoes.

Liro gulped as she casually leaned across part of the cart to reach the fruit of her choice, offering him the view of her choice. Part of him wanted to enjoy the sight, but the other part of him wanted to hold out on Zania. But it had been nearly a month with no word, no clue, no sight of her. Her dancing friend, Taira, had not received any sign of Zania either.

She had simply disappeared. And his mother was more anxious than ever for him to settle down. Better do it now before the Firedancer came back.

"How much for the mangoes, Liro?" That voice—that pure, haunting voice—interrupted his thoughts. A decision had to be made. Nuying's pink lips curled sweetly as her black hair flickered playfully in the breeze.

"Lunch," he replied.

"Lunch?" Her pretty eyes widened in confusion.

"They're free if you'll eat lunch with me tomorrow," he explained with a charming smile. She giggled, but nodded in response.

Liro wanted to hate himself, but he found that he just couldn't. It was her fault. _She_ disappeared.

* * *

This time, Iza's clothing was subdued, a ghastly brown color that may have been worse than the orange. She appeared so frail and sad, fading against the background of the colorful garden. Iroh wanted to understand her, wanted to know why she hurt so deeply.

"Are you still happy in the palace, Lady Iza?" Iroh asked, his voice still kind.

"I wish you wouldn't call me that. I'm no lady."

He stared at her with shock. It was the first time he had ever heard her say something alluding to her lack of courtly elegance. "How could you say that, My Lady? The court has never seen somebody of your particular grace."

Her hollow laugh pierced him.

"Why don't we leave the palace? Go for a walk away from all of this? Get some fresh fruit or something from the market?" His hand reached for hers, which she snatched away quickly.

"That sounds nice, if that's what you want, Your Princeness."

The market was crowded, but all Iroh was aware of was the way Iza's hand seemed to cling to his arm, like she feared the throng around her. _Probably hasn't been around so many people. The Shan aren't known for being positioned in major cities._

"Are you hungry, Lady Iza?" he asked, noting a fruit stand that seemed to have a lot of business.

"Yes," she replied blankly.

* * *

The crowds parted to allow the Prince and his companion through, the line diminishing to none but a pretty girl bowing as she moved aside. Both Iroh and Iza could hear the hushed whispers of scars and weddings, but Iroh stayed focused on her face. The shadow had never been darker, but she still kept a mask to hide what hurt her so badly.

"My Lord and Lady, what an honor to serve you! What can a humble farmer offer you?" The farmer bowed deeply, his eyes still flickering to the girl standing by his stand.

"Papaya would be nice, Master Farmer," replied Iroh.

When he held the fruit in his hand, he offered the better of the two to Iza, who took it numbly. Her fingers grasping his arm even more tightly, they walked back up to the palace.

* * *

I keep meaning to put this up, just so y'all know. Name meanings! Some of these are the family names from earlier.

From Chinese:

Jiao—charming, lovely  
Rou—gentle, mild  
Suyin—plain, unadorned sound  
Zhin—treasure  
Zi—grow, multiply  
Cai—colorful  
Rong—martial  
Zan—praised  
Huojin—fire metal  
Shan—mountain, elegant bearing  
Jinhai—golden sea  
Nuying—girl flower

From Japanese:

Rei—polite  
Hiromi—wide-seeing, widespread beauty  
Iza—shortened from Izanami, a Japanese goddess  
Iwao—stone man


	22. Kissing

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thanks a billion!  
Hotlikefire: Yes, it is Zhao. Yes, he is Iroh's friend—I'm one of those people that believe that nobody is born pure evil. (: But he's still no angel.  
Redbutterfly: Thank you for the comment on the names! I try.  
Zukoismylove: I had honestly never noticed that. But you're so right!

Hope you enjoy this chapter! The tension is very thick for our dear friends…  
Karynna  
**Edit: After reading number1avatarfanatic's review, I changed a couple of lines here and there. (S)he's right. Zania/Iza has a little more on her mind than Iroh right now. (: Thanks for pointing it out!**

* * *

The next night's banquet was dim without Iza's quirky presence. Iroh smiled to see Ozai dancing with Ursa, his two hands unsure where they belonged, his two eyes burning for her alone. It was good to see him content, if not happy. Not even that could keep Iroh's spirits high. Jiao's perfection seemed stifling without its foil to make it beautiful by comparison.

When it was all over, Iroh asked the chaperone of the girls where he could find Iza. The woman shook her head, answering, "That girl's not worth the trouble of keeping up with, My Lord. I've never seen a stranger young woman in all my years at court."

Iroh restrained himself—whispering when he wanted to shout, bowing when he wanted to strike. "That is why she's worth the effort."

* * *

She was lost on purpose. She didn't want to know her way back. Following the servant in front of her, she found herself in front of who she assumed were the elders she had requested to see. Only one of the dozen figures before her was lit well enough for her to make out, an elderly man she had seen once before. She peered in the shadows, curious. This was not the man who had blessed her task before she left for the palace. But Zania remembered him, a vague memory of the men choosing one "lucky" girl to become a fake daughter of the Shan.

Two of the shadows drew back from her piercing, broken eyes, but the speaker addressed her, directing her attention back to him. "Lady Iza, what brings you before us?"

"I want out," she said, her voice flat and empty.

"Why would you want something like that, Lady?" he asked.

"There's no point to this anymore. Let me go."

"But your task has not been finished, Lady."

"I don't care. Please let me go. There's nothing left for me here."

Her downcast gaze told them all they needed to know and they looked at each other, confused. She wasn't supposed to have known yet. The speaker responded carefully, unsure of what to say. "If you leave now, we won't be able to pay you..."

A younger, arrogant voice broke in. 'What makes you think your farmer will take you back now?" he sneered. "He didn't want the beautiful dancer you were, why would you tempt him now?"

Her head dropped. _He wouldn't take me back anyway. _"Just let me go. I'll never bother you or anything. I just want to leave."

The speaker's voice came back, kinder, almost sympathetic. "Stay the week, Iza. Stay the week and come back to us after the next banquet."

Her quiet, defeated agreement echoed plainly until the door had shut behind her. At the sound of the latch closing, the speaker called out two names.

"Zhao. Nuying." The two teens left their place among the elders to kneel before them. "How are your assignments coming?"

* * *

All throughout the following night's dinner, Iroh's eyes followed Iza's every move. From her half-hearted attempt at acting silly to the quietness of her eyes, he drank in her presence. After three nights of watching her, he resolved to follow her.

She left with the other girls, bowing as awkwardly as she always had. Iroh stood and bowed to his family. He saw his mother's infuriatingly knowing smile, wondering what she thought she knew so well.

They were outside before Iza noticed the footsteps behind her. "Jiao, I have nothing more to say to you," she said wearily. "Go away."

"I'd rather not leave," Iroh replied gently. "But if you want me to go, I will."

She jumped, turning around and bowing. "I'm so sorry, Prince Iroh. I did not mean to be so rude. I thought—" Iza's voice trailed off into the darkness.

"Have I done something to offend you, Shan Iza?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "No, no… Why…why would—have I said something or done something or…?"

Iroh stepped closer to her. "You've been very distant lately, Iza. I enjoyed your company so much that first week, but something happened and now I can't get a word out of you." She looked away, unable to look him in the eye.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Prince Iroh," she stammered, trying to blush. "Nothing's wrong at all."

He strode towards her, but at second thought, backed away. "Would you quit lying to me?" One hand raked through his black hair. "You've always got some snappy remark or some silly phrase to hide behind. Not once have I heard anything about you _from _you. Why won't you let me know who you are?"

"You don't want to know me, Iroh," Iza said bluntly. "I'm not worth it, so quit wasting your time. You'll be better off with one of those other girls, so just leave me alone."

"Is this what this is about? You honestly think that they're what I want?" Iroh shook his head, frustrated. "Little girls and pretenders? I can't believe you would even think that of me, Iza."

She stepped backwards. "You wouldn't believe a lot about me," she muttered inaudibly.

"Please, Iza," he pleaded, slowly walking to her. Iroh reached for her hand, holding it prisoner between his own. "Let me know you." Her eyes drifted away again. "Or at least tell me why not."

"I thought I just told you that. I'm not worth your time. They are. I'm not Fire Lady material. They are. I'm not even good enough for a fa— Let me be and just quit worrying about it," answered Iza, starting to shake. With anger, with fear, with hope…she didn't know.

Dark gold eyes took in the way she trembled. They roamed over her face—lingering on the scar that swept down her right cheekbone, lingering on the pale skin reflecting the moonlight, lingering on the dark amber eyes that haunted his heart. The scar wasn't as ugly as he used to think. "Iza…" he murmured gently. "Would I be out here if you weren't worth it?"

"How could you know if I was?" she joked, a pale smirk across her lips. "I won't let you know me, remember?"

"Then let me," he commanded, sliding his left arm around her back, still holding her hand in his. "And I'll tell you if you are."

It took the space of a heartbeat for him to take her lips in his, tenderly bracing her with his left arm.

It took less than that for her to find the strength to push him away, giving him a confused look before running.

* * *

Ozai jumped in the air, bringing his burning hand down in an arc. The fire formed a slithering whip, lashing at the dummies at the end of the training arena. He jerked it back and the flames settling into a pillar of fire, which he threw as a wall toward his lifeless opponents. As the last of the heat and dust settled, he stood composed, his hands pressed together in front of him.

He heard clapping. Turning around, he immediately used his hands to smooth his windswept hair as he bowed. "Lady Ursa."

"Hello, Prince Ozai. Your training seems to be coming along very well," she said, bowing low. She blushed. "If you would allow me to say so, My Lord, of course."

His pale face pinkened. "Of course…please do. I mean, you don't have to. But I don't mind." He looked around nervously, unsure about what to say. "Would you like to sit down with me?"

"Yes, My Lord," the girl answered with a smile. They sat on a bench made of wood. She noticed him unconsciously cringing and heard him mumble something about not the way to treat a lady. She bit her lip, trying to think of something to say. "So…Prince Ozai…What do you think about Prince Iroh's future wife? Who do you think it will be?"

He frowned, wanting to talk about anything_ but_ Iroh. "He'll probably pick Shan Jiao. She's the most qualified. I personally don't care as long as he doesn't pick that fool girl, Iza."

"I like Iza. She's very nice," said Ursa without thinking. She mentally slapped herself for contradicting him.

"Well—well…" Ozai stammered in response, trying to think of the right words to say. "I guess she's nice. She's just not all there, if you know what I mean. Iroh needs to be careful about who he chooses. Marriage is for life, and it would be best to choose a woman I—," he coughed. "I mean, one likes."

"You think so?" she asked, hope filling her wide, young eyes. "Do you really think yo—people should marry for a partner and not family?"

He looked her in the eye, barely able to contain himself. "Yes. Yes, I do."

A sudden kiss on the cheek told him that he finally found the right thing to say.

* * *

"Zhao, I can't do this anymore! She's driving me crazy!"

"Sure, we weren't just talking about battle strategy," said Iroh's friend with a caustic smile. "Please tell me all your lady troubles. Again."

Iroh continued, paying no heed to Zhao's remark. "I can't figure her out. One moment she's this goofy, awkward girl that doesn't know a kimono from a bathrobe. The next, she's this enthralling, witty woman that defiantly hides herself away from me. I mean, what kind of girl can't bow properly but can dance without missing a step or watching what she's doing?"

"Is it Iza again?" Zhao asked, casually masking his interest.

"Yeah," replied Iroh, standing up and beginning to pace. "And there's something about her eyes that seems so remarkable, familiar even. Like I've known her and have been waiting for her…"

"You're obsessed and it's sickening."

Sheepishly, the Prince turned to face his friend. "You think so?"

"Come on, man. Everything you've said about her has been positive. And everything you say is about her. And all the other girls are losers," he shrugged. "No offense to them. Well maybe. But that's not the point."

Iroh's face fixed itself in a peculiar look, as though something had just dawned on him.

Zhao triumphed.

* * *

Her fingers brushed her lips gingerly. It had been three days since Iroh had cornered her; today she would be forced to spend time with him again. Strangely, part of her looked forward to seeing him.

Iza chased the thought away. All she wanted was to leave this stupid palace and all the stupid drama behind and run away somewhere and forget all of this. Maybe become a hermit, spending her days in the mountains, looking at the sun as she withered away into a holy silence. _People hurt too much. All they do is deceive you once your back is turned. _Her hand went to her neck, reaching for the cord that was no longer there. The ornament lay, again, thrown against a wall.

But her heart betrayed her when it leapt to the sound of the servant announcing her to the Prince. Eyes downcast, she walked inside. Iza didn't dare to look at him, afraid of the look that would be on his face.

"Lady Iza?" Involuntarily, she looked up. He bowed low to her, much lower than a prince should have been bowing to any lady of the court. She bowed in return, confused. "I beg your forgiveness. I was disrespectful to you and I should have never acted so irrationally."

"I forgive you," she said, trying to avoid his intense gaze.

"Surely you must know," Iroh started quietly, "that I want more than your forgiveness."

"I have nothing else to offer, Prince Iroh," Iza responded. _Liro took everything else._

He took a step nearer; she took a step back. "I'm sorry," he apologized, moving away. "I don't mean to frighten you or make you uncomfortable. But I have to disagree with you. I think you have much more to offer than you think."

A self-derisive look crossed her face. "Like what? My etiquette skills?"

"Yes." Iroh shut his eyes, trying to focus his words. "Precisely that. These other girls are so bland and predictable; I could never spend the rest of my days with them. You…you are so unique, so different. There is so much more to you than the surface, Iza, and I want to know you."

"What about Jiao? She's perfect, Iroh. I'm not close to what you're supposed to marry. Look at me! I'm ugly, awkward, completely wrong."

"She's manipulative. Anybody can see that," he answered with a wry grin. "And, by the way you greeted me the other night, she's hurt you. I don't want that for a wife or a Fire Lady. I'd rather have you. You are beautiful, Iza. You have the strength of a leader and grace of a Firedancer." He cringed to see her shake again and he reached out to her, again approaching her. "This I have seen, but I want to see more of you." This time, she didn't move away, and she allowed his hand to catch the side of her face.

"Prince Iroh…" _Don't take me. I'll ruin you. I'm not who you think I am. I don't even know who I am. Please don't let me hurt you like this. I don't think I can. How do I do this without blowing my cover? _"I don't think…I don't want to say no, but I can't say yes."

"I'll take that for now," he whispered, kissing her forehead.

For the first time in weeks, Zania smiled.


	23. Message

As always, thank you immensely for reading. Believe me when I say I love you!  
Kudos to whoever can tell me where that's from… (;

* * *

By the third banquet, the nobility had begun to gravitate to the woman they were sure would win the prize. Jiao happily found herself the darling of the court, with the women conspiring to sit near her when she rested and the men charmingly asking for a chaste dance. But anybody who paid attention saw that the Fire Lady herself had invited an entirely different girl to sit at her table, much to her younger son's discomfort.

"It's a shame that you aren't asked to dance more than you are, Iza. I enjoy watching you on the floor. You move with surprising amount of grace."

"I'm pretty sure it's the only thing I do right, Your…uh, Your Ladyship," replied Iza. "I don't think I'm really fit for a life like this."

"I had trouble with titles, too, when I was your age. Don't worry, it becomes easier with practice." The Lady Ila smiled. "I hope you do get the chance to remain at court. For a while, at least. I enjoy your company."

Ozai's eyes narrowed at his mother's unexpected endorsement of the clumsy girl. Her words went beyond politeness, he could tell. Something in the way she smiled, like she understood something he just couldn't grasp.

* * *

"Lady Iza, it has come to our attention that the Prince favors you." The speaker's wooden voice revealed a certain amount of pleasure, but Iza's mind caught on the words that it carried.

"How would you know that?"

The younger voice from last week answered. "We have our ways of keeping an eye on important things."

_Have they been watching the whole time? Did they see us that night after dinner? Anybody could have…we were out in the open…but still…I ran away…_

"You will accept his proposal," interrupted the speaker.

"What? No!" she exclaimed, standing. "You can't make me do that! Our agreement was for one month. One hellish month and then you'd let me go back."

She had never before heard the voice that answered her. It was a woman's—no a girl's voice, lilting and dangerously sweet. "Go back where, Zania? Liro doesn't love you. You've seen it. We've seen it."

"Stop it," Zania sobbed.

The girl cruelly continued. "He turned you away because his family didn't approve. That's not love. It only took him a month to replace you. That's not love."

"And you can't dance anymore, my dear," said yet another voice. "From what we've heard, you can't bend."

"Besides," sneered the young man, "nobody will pay an ugly girl to dance."

Crying openly now, Zania backed away from the shadows and their words. They were right, all so right… But she couldn't marry a Prince! Shan Iza was not a Fire Lady and Zania didn't even come close to being a lady.

"Think about it, Iza. Be reasonable. Marrying him is the only option you have left."

* * *

The final week's schedule was different from its predecessors. Iroh was to meet briefly with each girl one las time in the first three days. The fourth day was for meeting with his family and personal reflection. The lucky girl would be informed that night.

It all seemed so strange to Iroh that he only had four days to choose a wife. Granted, he had mostly made his decision already, but to know that in four days' time the choice was concrete… Despite the heat, Iroh shuddered.

"Quit thinking about it and fight!" demanded Zhao, his warning shot barely missing Iroh's side.

Their training was short because of the day's activities, but they stopped even earlier that morning as Zhao beat Iroh for the first time in four months.

"You do realize that these girls are going to be even worse this week, don't you?" Zhao asked, laughing and wiping the last of the dust from his face.

"What do you mean?"

"It's their last chance to steal your heart and I'll bet they're scheming now."

Iroh donned a grim expression. "Fantastic."

* * *

It had been three nights since Zania had slept last.

Three nights of a darkness creeping over heart even as the light began to crawl back from exile.

Part of her hoped they were wrong. That the Prince would pick Jiao and she could live the rest of her days somewhere where she didn't have to lie anymore. It hurt so much to pretend.

But part of her wanted to be chosen. She didn't love the Prince, but she could learn. She enjoyed his company and he seemed to really love her. For that, she could endure this life.

Still, she didn't know if she could lie to him anymore. He deserved better. Wouldn't he hate her for deceiving him? She knew she would hate herself.

The elders had told her that she couldn't tell him the truth until they had married. They would remain married no matter what, the speaker had explained, as public knowledge of her deception would cast doubt on the entire royal family, especially Iroh.

She didn't understand why they were so insistent on _her_ marrying him. His marriage to any of the girls would put the Shan at an advantage. Why her? Why Iza?

The question stayed on her mind as the library door opened in front of her. Iroh bowed to her as Zhin sullenly left, but when the door had closed and the pair was alone, the Prince embraced the dancer.

"You don't know how happy I am to see you," he murmured in her ear as they pulled apart.

She laughed, strangely happy to be in his arms again. "After spending two hours with Zhin, you'd be happy to see a rock."

He smiled broadly, but frowned to see the dark circles under her eyes. "Have you not been sleeping well, Iza?"

"I'm fine," she insisted with a smile. "Now, what shall I do to impress you today, Prince Iroh? It's your last chance to see how wonderful I think you should think I am and I don't want to screw it up too badly."

"I already know how wonderful you are."

She blushed. _No. You don't._

Iroh kissed her cheek. "Why don't we go sit in the garden for a while? The turtleducks have just hatched and they're really quite a sight."

"The Crown Prince of the Fire Nation likes to watch cute, cuddly baby turtleducks?"

He faked insult to her jibe and they were still laughing as they sat down on the stone bench by the pond. Holding hands, they traded small talk and harmless gossip, watching the sunset's fire illuminate the sky. Before long, their words dwindled into silence and a passerby would have found a man quietly saying a prayer of thanksgiving as a sleeping woman's head rested comfortably on his shoulder, hiding the scar she hated so much.

* * *

Ila smiled.

Azulon stared.

Ozai scowled.

"You choose Iza?" asked the deep, aging voice of the Fire Lord.

The Fire Lady rested her hand on her husband's arm. "Gawky, sweet, intelligent, out of place…Doesn't she remind you of somebody?"

Azulon's eyes clouded with the memory of the day he was in his son's place, choosing the one girl that was so wrong that she was perfect, defending Ila against his mother's angry attempts to dissuade him. Looking back to the present, he turned to his wife, a tender respect in his eyes. "And a fine woman she has become."

"You can't be serious," protested Ozai. "She's ridiculous. You'd be better off picking some Firedancing tramp off the streets."

Iroh's mouth twisted at his brother's remark. "I appreciate your concern, brother, but I believe we both know the hold a girl can have a man's heart. And I know she'll make a worthy Fire Lady."

Ozai's face screamed that he thought otherwise.

* * *

Every girl in the room held her breath as the servant walked in the room, a sealed message in her hands. Eighteen eyes followed her as she approached the table where each of the girls sat awaiting their fates.

She placed the paper in front of Iza, the only girl who didn't look surprised.

"Tell me, Iza. Do you really think you're cut out for this?" came a smooth voice from across the table. "I'm asking as a friend, of course, dear. We all know who you are and who you aren't."

Rou's plain face wrinkled in confusion. "What do you mean, Jiao? Iza was chosen. You should be nicer."

Iza placed a placating hand on the dull girl's arm with a wry smile. "She's trying, Rou. That's all we can expect, right?"

A ear-splitting giggle erupted from Zi's chubby lips, one hastily silenced at a scathing glance from her older sister. "Jiao's right, Iza. Some of us are born to live in the luxury of the palace, but you? You don't belong."

"Oh, and I suppose you do, you greedy little dragon?" asked Suyin, her eyebrow raised and her voice piercing. She turned to Cai beside her. "You wouldn't _believe_ what I've heard about our Zhin. People notice when things go missing…particularly when those things are _pure gold_."

"Says the girl that associates with servants… We're above those low class people." muttered Zan with disdain.

Jiao smirked. "Low class people…sound like home, Iza?" Her voice darkened. "You don't belong here. Not with us. Not with him."

A chair fell to the floor as Rong stood suddenly. The girls looked at her in surprise; the taciturn girl hardly ever made a sound. "Enough!" She walked toward the door, her hands clenched.

As she reached for the knob, Jiao laughed. "Don't feel bad, Rong. I'm sure you could still be Iroh's buddy. Some of us just aren't wife material."

Rong spun on her heels. "That's not what this is about! You think you're so wonderful, don't you? Let me tell you this, and listen well, Jiao, because it's something you've needed to hear for a long time. All your little lies fool nobody. You're just another self-centered, power-seeking little girl ready to trample anybody in her way. The only low class woman I see in here is you. Iza will make a better Fire Lady than you ever would."

"How dare you?" Jiao spat.

The tomboy laughed. Iza pushed her chair back and joined Rong at the door. "Thank you," she whispered as they left the room.

"No problem," replied Rong. "I've been waiting to do that for years now. Thanks for the opportunity."

Iza laughed. "Anytime."

Their chuckles echoed endlessly in the darkened hallway.


	24. Touches

I am _so_ sorry. I started failing calculus, so I had to put everything aside. But finals have passed, and the story is planned out, so this will be done by the end of summer, I swear it. I'm sorry for the wait, but as Avatar fans, we're kinda used to it. (:

* * *

The month's final banquet was even more opulent than its predecessors. The hall was lined with flowing red fabric and gold metalwork and musicians and performers and nobility decked out in the finest luxury they could afford. The nine daughters of the Shan were hidden behind a gauzy screen of gold, awaiting the moment when one of them would be introduced as the Crown Prince's betrothed.

Silhouettes against the curtain were all the girls could see of the revelers gathered for the evening. Each of them watched in silence, for they had already said anything that could be said. One of the elders had mediated a fragile reconciliation among the girls that morning, explaining that even though Iza was not one of their own, exposing her would be a disaster for them all. The Shan would be named liars and the girls would be lucky to marry a farmhand, especially perfect little Jiao, who had taken responsibility for Iza's presence. Now they all sat quietly, waiting for their fates to be publicly sealed, none more anxious than Iza.

* * *

An abrupt change in music brought all to attention. It was time.

Iroh's hands fidgeted beneath the voluminous sleeves of the ceremonial robe. He knew that there would be some dissention at his choice, no matter how confident he was that Iza was the right choice.

As the golden curtain was slowly pulled back, he turned to face the women who had so fully occupied the past month. He heard his father address the crowd, announcing that now was the time that his son would publicly declare which of these lovely girls would become his bride. The Fire Lord gestured to the girls and one of them, with the aid of Rong's encouraging words and Iroh's gentle eyes, timidly stepped forward.

The crowd stepped back.

* * *

Iza closed her eyes against the reaction of the nobles and lightly placed her hand into that of her fiancée. His firm grasp gave her strength as they both bowed deeply before the crowd. Iroh's shaky breathing told her that he, too, was nervous and she smiled at him. This wasn't where she wanted to be, but she refused to hurt this kind man any more than she had to. His eyes reflected the glittering lights of the party and glowed with the excitement of the evening. Iza couldn't help but to allow a tear to fall past her eyelashes.

A thick thumb reached up to brush the tear away, tenderly mistaking her remorse for happiness. With a broad smile of his own, he led her to where his father stood.

"I present Lady Iza of the Shan as my son's betrothed. May the Spirits bless them with the strength to rule a growing Empire and many children to continue the great line of the Golden Flame." The people mimicked the Fire Lord's raised goblet, drinking to the health of a woman they could hardly take seriously.

* * *

"Why don't you like Iza?"

Ozai choked as he turned to see Ursa. She had taken up the habit of watching him practice and, while he had no objection at all to her watching him at his best, she had also taken up the habit of interrupting his training with questions usually involving Iroh, something he definitely objected to. And he was tired of it. Tired of everything being about his bumbling idiot of a brother. Tired of being a shadow set by a light that could barely glow. His golden eyes burned with fury as he walked towards the girl.

"Why do you keep asking about him?" he whispered. "Am I not good enough for you?" He placed both hands on her shoulder, slowly pushing her against the wall. "Can't you see how much more I am than he is?" Her back hit the wall and her eyes roamed his face, surprised. "Don't you understand, Ursa? Can't you understand?" He pressed against her firmly, his voice low and treacherous. "If you fail to see that, you stupid little wench, then quit watching me. Quit talking to me. Leave me alone."

Ursa frowned, her little fingers pulling his hands from her shoulders. "I just wanted an excuse to talk to you, Prince Ozai, but if it distresses you so much, in the future, I will refrain from seeking your opinion on matters of the court." She bowed and left him in shock, staring at the wall.

* * *

It was going to happen; she had always known that. Iza hadn't wanted it to come so soon, but she supposed that it was as good a time as any. She was even, perhaps, a bit surprised that it had taken Iroh so long to ask her, but she knew as soon as he opened his mouth that he could wait no longer.

Thick fingers gingerly traced the reddened skin. "How did this happen?"

Iza looked away, hoping he would assume that she was embarrassed or reluctant instead of afraid. She hated lying to him, and it was growing more difficult with each moment they spent together. "It was an accident."

Iroh frowned and pulled her face back towards his. "Did somebody do this to you?"

She forced a laugh, relieved she could tell at least a partial truth in this. "No…no…I did this to myself. Training accident. I was never really a good bender, you know."

"Oh," he replied softly, his fingers again exploring the silky scar. There was something endearing in the way it unapologetically marred her face, something tragically beautiful. He smiled. "Perhaps you should be practicing more, then. Wouldn't want this to happen again, would we?"

The color drained from her face, making the scar stand out all the more vividly. "I haven't…I can't."

"You can't?"

"I haven't been able to bend since…" Her hand joined his as she unconsciously reached for her face. Iza's voice broke with pain. "Since I burned myself."

She couldn't stop the first tear that fell, but he caught it with gentle hands. "We'll just have to work on that," he said, drawing her close.

* * *

Soon, Liro found himself the unofficial fruit supplier to the palace. Nuying came nearly every day to his stand to carry his produce back up to the noblemen she served and she returned every evening with an empty basket and a filling touch.

He shivered at the memory of her hand against his, a cool and soothing alternative to the fiery way Zania had stirred him. Liro felt at peace with the little flower girl who had so suddenly filled the void the dancer had left behind. Here she came now, her black-brown eyes glittering in the sunlight, hair loosely braided and swinging as she walked.

"My superior tells me that they'll be needing a lot of mangoes and papayas for Prince Iroh's wedding in two weeks," Nuying said as she joined him on the seller's side of the stand. She smiled at the farmer, a twinkle in her eye. "'A lot' meaning enough to feed four hundred."

Liro whistled. "Sounds like I'm going to be busy at the farm for a while, hmm?" Her cheery laugh answered him and he sat down on the tall stool behind him, carefully watching the pretty girl choose her fruit for the day. "You know, after business like this, I'll have enough to set up a regular store instead of a stand. I'll be a real businessman."

"So you will," she agreed, placing her basket of fruit on the counter and turning to face him. "A real businessman. And what will you do then?"

"I don't know. My mother would like to see me settled down."

Nuying blushed lightly, looking at him through lowered lashes as she placed a hand on his arm. "What do _you_ want?"

* * *

Iza's heart pounded as Iroh's hands delicately guided hers from stance to stance. Irritated with herself, she forced her attention on the movement, not the touch. They were all moves she had done before, things she had already tried, but she patiently waited for him to let go so that she could demonstrate how completely absent fire seemed to be from her.

He watched her every move with intensity. Iza slid through the stances as beautifully as she danced, but no matter how many motions they tried, she could produce no spark of her own.

After what seemed like hours of work, they both sighed as they silently agreed to a break. Iroh poured her a glass of cool water, which she accepted gratefully, gracelessly sitting on the ground and leaning against a wall.

"How long have you been unable to bend?"

She paused for a moment to think before replying. "Eight and a half weeks."

Iroh sat beside her, his hand covering the one she had laid on the dirt. He felt so useless. "Perhaps we could consult a Master."

"No." The forcefulness of her answer shocked them both and Iza quickly continued in order to lessen the sting. "I don't know if I really want to publicize that I've lost the ability to bend. Nobody likes me as it is, and I'm afraid it'll reflect poorly on you." _And I don't want to face why I can't bend without you._

Iroh breathed deeply, his hand tightening around hers. "We'll figure this out."

"Found yourself a new sparring partner behind my back?" came Zhao's jeering laugh. Iroh felt Iza stiffen beside him. _Have I not introduced them yet?_

The Prince stood and helped his betrothed to her feet. Placing a steadying hand on her back, he turned to his best friend. "I believe you know who this is, but I'm not sure the two of you've met. Zhao, meet Shan Iza, my fiancée. Iza, this is Jinhai Zhao, my sparring partner and good friend."

The two bowed to each other. Zhao moved fluidly and with confidence while Iza barely inclined her head as she bent forward, refusing to look away from him. Zhao stepped forward to take her hand and kiss it. "It's a pleasure to _finally_ meet you, Princess-to-be." He looked back to Iroh. "The training over for the day? Or are you up for another match?"

This time, Iroh was certain he felt Iza tremor, but he merely slid his arm down to catch her hand. "You want to sit this one out, Iza?"

"Yeah…yeah…" she replied absently. She shook her head and smiled. "I'll watch. Should be interesting."

Zhao chuckled darkly as he and Iroh bowed to each other. "You ready for this, friend?"

* * *

The young prince had never been so humiliated in his life.

There she was, beautiful and amazing and presumably interested in his company, and he had ruined it. Ursa wouldn't even look at him anymore.

_No, _he reminded himself. _Iroh ruined it. Even when he's not there, he takes away my chance for any sort of pleasure. Always destroying my life._

Ozai stared after the noble girl's retreating figure. Because of her family's rumored role in Iroh's marriage, the Jinhai had been staying in close proximity to the palace and there was no way he could completely avoid Ursa. He wanted to right things between them, to tell her that, even at such a young age, he knew that she would be the only woman he could care for. But one look at her shaded eyes and he could not bring himself to speak.

He heard his brother's shout. _Ugh. Probably sparring again. One day, I'll show him. Soon. _Ozai grimaced to realize that the most efficient route to his chambers was passing by the training area, and with a few more turns and steps, he found himself walking past a viewing point for the arena. There Iroh was, trading attacks with Zhao. Iza was sitting away from the fire, her head resting against a wall to her right.

For a moment, he pitied the girl for having to be eternally bond his foolish brother.

But then Ozai's narrow eyes caught something he had never noticed before. Hiding the scar on her face, she seemed strikingly familiar. As he passed on his way, he rummaged through his mind for the memory Iza sparked.

* * *

Iza smiled to see that Iroh was as skilled a bender as the rumors had told. Zhao, too, was powerful, but there was a recklessness in the way the attacked and she had the distinct impression that if Iroh hadn't been recycling and redirecting Zhao's flaming strikes, the palace would have burned down.

Zhao… His voice was so similar to the arrogant one amongst the elders. _It would make a lot of sense…_ she reasoned. _It would explain how they knew that Iroh would pick me. But he's of the Jinhai, not the Shan. _

_Still…Those elders weren't the ones I remembered being the Shan, but the ones who hired me in the first place. And the voices are too much alike. They had to be Jinhai…but why would I be reporting to them?_ Some vague memory registered, Iroh—or somebody, there was a lot of gossip in a palace—telling her that the Jinhai had no suitable women to present, but had moved to support… _the Shan! _

_But that would mean…_ Iza gasped as Iroh narrowly dodged a flame, sidestepping while gathering it and sending it back to Zhao. The younger man was cornered and he signaled defeat to the Prince, catching Iza's eye. Zhao smirked at the confused, angry look Iza was giving him, only confirming her suspicion. _I was never supposed to lose._

She looked at Iroh, his grin brighter than the noonday sun as he strode triumphantly towards her. For his sake, she smiled. Iza took in the way his arms glistened in the sunlight, the way his hair waved in the breeze, the way his eyes fixed on her face, the face of his chosen bride.

_But who chose me?_


	25. Wedding

I wish I had sufficient words to tell y'all how sorry I am that this took so long. I've had several personal crises lately and I just haven't had the strength to write.  
On a lighter note, this is a beast of a chapter! Please enjoy and review!  
--Karynna

* * *

"By the blazing sun, I join my hand with yours, my name with yours, my life with yours. Desert me not, for your breath will be my breath and without you by my side I will fade into the night…"

Even as Iroh recited the words of the ceremony, he knew that all he would ever remember about their wedding was the look in his bride's eyes. There seemed to be a storm within them, a dark struggle deep in Iza, hidden behind the emotional shine that normally accompanied such occasions. She was so beautiful, her hair pinned back in an elegant fashion in contrast to her pale skin. The full effect of her face was breathtaking; it was a shame that she was placed so that the spectators could see only the blaring scar slither across her right cheekbone and along her jaw line. But, as with any groom, all Iroh could see was the perfect splendor of his chosen beloved. She looked strong, but her voice was so fragile as she spoke her own vows, vows Iroh barely registered.

"By the blazing sun, I join my hand with yours, my name with yours, my life with yours. Entreat me not to leave your side, for I will go where you go and stay where you stay. Your people will be my people and your burden will be my burden. I will reflect your honor with my own and there will be no one before you. When the sun sets on your life, I will linger at your grave until I am by your side once again."

For the first time, Iza's eyes dropped to the floor, the tempest within stifled at last. The Fire Sage's droning voice carried throughout the great hall and before he knew it, Iroh was standing with his wife. Beaming, they bowed low first to the Sage, to their attendants, and to the crowd. Her small hand carefully placed on his elbow, they walked down the aisle together, bonded in a sacred union not even broken in death.

* * *

Ozai watched intently as Ursa's pale eyes filled with unshed tears. From his place as an attendant, he could see that many women were tearing up, but she was the only one he cared to watch. She seemed happy enough, but there was a sort of longing in her eyes as she watched the newlyweds take their first steps as husband and wife. The young Prince knew he would give anything to be the one that walked Ursa down that aisle.

Captivated by her wistful look, Ozai nearly missed his cue to walk off the platform with his brother's other attendants. As Ursa also left the dais, their eyes met for a brief moment and Ozai determined then and there to fix what had happened between them. He would be the man to kneel beside her when their time came; he would marry Ursa no matter what would pass.

* * *

Celebrations rang across the nation, and the festivities in the capital city were the most extravagant by far, for the Prince's new wife was to be crowned that afternoon. Rich and poor folk alike stood together to watch the great balcony in anticipation. Liro had to admit that it was worth being dragged away from his fruit stand to see the magnificence awarded the event. Nuying had insisted that he come with her to see it and Liro found that he was quite willing to bend to her whims.

The dark-eyed girl at his side drew some attention, but Liro's arm, tanned and strong from years in his family's orchards, lay protectively around her shoulder and the crowd's attention soon turned back to the balcony, where Fire Sages were beginning to line up. When they were in place, the Royal Family walked out of the building, the two younger Princes followed by the Fire Lord and his own wife.

Last to appear was the woman of the hour, dressed in ceremonial robes and walking with the slow pace of ritual. Even with her measured gait, Liro recognized the way the woman's shoulders and hips slid along. It was a dancer's walk. It was Zania's walk.

But that was impossible, surely. This was Iza, the scarred but blessed orphan of the Shan, not Zania, the graceful and laughing dancer of the streets. Still, Liro's eyes caught the cues that should not have been there. The way she pulled her left hand in closer to her body as she walked, the way she tilted her head just the slightest to the right while she listened to the ancient Fire Sage's words of welcome, the way she instinctively carried her shoulders back as though she were dancing while standing still. The Lady Iza was even about the same height as Zania, the same shape and size.

"Impossible," he muttered. Nuying initially turned at his voice and then to follow his gaze. She casually crafted a stumble to bring his attention back to her. It didn't work.

Nuying swore under her breath and snuggled closer to Liro's side. "Prince Iroh chose her over all those other lovely girls? Even with that wicked scar of hers…he must really love her." She sighed wistfully and looked up at Liro's eyes. "So beautiful."  
"Yeah, yeah," he agreed absentmindedly, his eyes still set on the newly crowned Princess. "Beautiful."

* * *

It didn't take long for Ozai to find Ursa in the banquet hall, dancing with some young faceless noble. The Prince smiled to see that she looked bored; her eyes flicked lazily about the room trying to amuse herself while her plastered smile seemed to satisfy her partner.

With all the delicate smugness that suited his position, Ozai cut in.

"Prince Ozai," she greeted coldly, barely inclining her head.

"Ursa," he breathed in return, carefully drawing her as close as the dance allowed, despite her stiff resistance. "I offended you, Lady," Ozai noted, his adolescent voice for once, thank Agni, deep and steady.

"You called me a stupid wench, Ozai. As long as we've known each other, you've never said something so mean."

Ozai let his eyes fall before he looked back to her. "I thought I had lost you to him. And I couldn't bear that." His words came through gritted teeth; as difficult as it was to live in Iroh's shadow, admitting it was worse.

"To Iroh?" His grave nod made her smile. "You really care for me don't you?" Another solemn nod and another smile. "Oh, Ozai."

Neither trusted themselves to speak anymore, but they danced together in a daydream, never once looking away.

* * *

The skies cascaded into darkness and Iroh and Iza looked up to realize where they were. The past few hours had been so hectic and blurry; neither remembered actually slipping away, but there they were, hand in hand, quietly walking along a corridor that Iza didn't recognize. Her heart pounded endlessly against her ribcage; surely he could hear it echoing against the walls. Then again, judging from his sweaty palms, it could very well be his.

They came to the end of the hallway where a large oak door waited ominously for them, like a portal into another world. One Iza could walk into, but where Zania would be left behind.

"Iza?"

She hesitated and he could feel it; she knew he could. So Iroh gently pulled her hand to his lips while his other hand opened the door in front of him. Iza could see that somebody had already moved what belongings she had into the richly furnished parlor before her. She had had very little indeed, merely a painting Rong had given her as a wedding gift—Iza hadn't realized how talented the tomboy was—and a candlestick she had found on a market trip with the Lady Ursa. Instinctively, she moved towards these things, the familiar in the unknown.

Iza felt Iroh's burly arms slipping around her slender waist and his warm breath on her ear. "It's a new room for me, too. C'mon and we'll check it out, shall we, my bride?"

_Bride…_ The word resonated in her heart and she suddenly broke from her fog, turning in his arms to see a gentle smile and adoring eyes quickly replaced by worry. "Iza? Are you alright?"

Iza couldn't answer. What could she possibly say? That she was sorry, but all of this had been a lie, a clever manipulation for power? That she wasn't Shan Iza at all, but a firedancer that Iroh had once saved by chance? But the nobles had insisted that she say nothing until after their marriage had been consummated…_Oh, Agni…I hadn't even thought of that!_

Iroh's hand caressed her face and his voice broke with concern. "Iza, are you nervous about this?"

He was so kind about it, so very caring in all he did for her. And he didn't even know her name. Suddenly, Iza began to cry, burying her face in Iroh's chest. He held her close, unsure what was happening to her. He murmured her name over and over, trying to comfort her with the one thing she didn't want to hear.

"Stop it!" she screamed, pulling away from Iroh's embrace. "Stop calling me that! I'm not Iza!"

Confused, Iroh stepped toward her, reaching for her hand. "Of course you are Iza. What's wrong with you?"

"Everything!" Zania yanked her hand away from his reach. "I'm not Iza! I'm not Iza!" She began to sob again, backing up against the wall and sliding down to the floor.

Determined to console her, Iroh again approached Iza, crouching on the floor beside her and gathering her, once again, to cry in his arms. This time, however, words made their way through the weeping and Iza's broken confession slowly began to form.  
Iroh hadn't married a nobleman's orphaned daughter at all, but the firedancer who had caught his eye long ago at the festival, forced into marrying him through the careful scheming of the Jinhai. He knew she was leaving parts out of her story, but the half he heard shocked him so much that he couldn't bear to ask for the rest of it. He didn't want to know how much of the past few months had been a lie.

Iza—no, Zania—was no longer crying. Iroh's hands slipped from her back and they began to pull apart, as though creating space between them distanced them from the truth.

It was impossible to know just how much time had passed by the either one of them was able to speak again. Maybe minutes, maybe hours—the only thing they knew for sure was that it was still dark outside. Zania sat with her head between her knees, trying to hide her tear-streaked face from Iroh. She had just shattered his world; there was no way she could look him in the eye. Iroh sat staring straight ahead, trying to will their past conversation into nonexistence.

His voice was gruff and strained when he finally spoke. "If we aren't in the same bed tomorrow morning, the servants will talk."

Zania mutely nodded.

"Zania?" She looked up reluctantly. "I'm sorry you got forced into this." She gave him a silent nod of gratitude before sliding into their new bedroom, undressing, and slipping into bed. A great time later, she felt Iroh climb onto the other side and she inched closer to her edge of the bed and farther away from the man she had never wanted to hurt.

* * *

By the time anybody had realized Iroh and Iza were gone, Ozai and Ursa had been dancing for hours. Vaguely, Ursa could hear her cousin Zhao give a drunken whoop with other inebriated young men, but very little registered past the intense gaze of the young man in front of her. Very little else mattered, quite honestly.

She could feel the eyes of her elders on her. They would use this young romance to their advantage; Ursa knew that. As the steps of the dance revolved her, she found them looking straight at her. One of them smiled, a twisted self-serving smile that made Ursa feel trapped. She looked back to her partner, back into those fiercely entrancing eyes.

_Oh, Ozai… I'm afraid I no longer have a choice with you, do I?_

* * *

Newlyweds weren't meant to sleep much, but Iroh had expected a far different reason for the insomnia he had suffered. _No,_ he thought as he crawled out of bed that morning, _I never expected this._

He looked over at Zania. She lay there, her face still stained with the tears he heard her crying long into the night. He could see it now, the similarity between his Iza and the dancer Zania. Iroh couldn't bring himself to blame her for what had been done, but he knew that he could never love Zania like he loved Iza and he would never know if she had ever cared for him. Still, even that would be the least of his worries when he explained what had happened to his father. Iroh could not predict how Azulon would react, and he could only hope that he could save Zania from being the scapegoat.

Ah, she stirred, moving her head just enough that he could see her scar peeking from the buried right side of her face. He hadn't quite understood what she had said about the scar the night before, only that she had done it herself and it wasn't an accident at all. And something about a farmer. Iroh thought she had something about loving him, but what kind of man forced a girl through so much in order to allow her to marry him?

_Then again, somebody forced her through all this to marry me._

She stirred again, her hands curling tight about two pieces of gold. Iroh leaned forward to get a closer look, but he accidentally hit the mattress and she began to wake. He watched her slowly remember where she was and saw the horror of realization creep over her face. Zania almost cried out, but Iroh quickly placed his hand over her mouth.

"Shh…Listen to me. We're stuck in a situation that neither of us like, but we're gonna have to pretend that nothing's wrong. The world can't know; the only people we're telling are my father and mother. Outside that, we're just Iroh and Iza, okay?"

Zania nodded and he removed his hand. "I'm so sorry, Iroh. By the time I had figured it all out, it was too late. I…I never wanted you to get hurt."

He looked away. "When did you find out?"

It had seemed like a simple and harmless question to Iroh, but Zania struggled with it. "I had been meeting with a group of elders that I knew weren't the Shan elders. I…encountered one of them outside of our meetings and figured out who they were and why they were so keen on my marrying you after they had hired me to make the other girls look better."

"You were meant to be a breath of fresh air, crafted to make me choose you," concluded Iroh.

Tears filled Zania's eyes again. "I swear I didn't know. I was just trying to get back to Liro."

"The farmer?" She nodded and Iroh found it strange that he was jealous and had to bite down his anger to keep talking. "Did he make you do this?"

"No, no… But it was all for him." She sat up in bed, leaning against the plush headboard and her hands began to fidget with the gold in them. "His family wouldn't want a girl like me to marry him, so when this guy came along offering me all this money and a way to be acceptable for Liro's family…" Zania shook her head in disgust and choked out the rest, "But he found somebody else as soon as I left. After all I had done for him."

_So she loved somebody else. My Iza loved somebody else. _His pain must have shown on his face, for she dropped her head and whispered, "I'm sorry, Iroh."

"So am I."

* * *

The Fire Lord and Lady sat in silent disbelief. They had all been duped. The charmingly imperfect Iza was all a fabrication. The Jinhai had the upper hand entirely. If the Shan moved against them, they would miraculously uncover the plot the Shan had to weaken the royal bloodline. If the royal family moved against them, they would disclose who Iza really was and destroy the trust the nation has in the family. It was blackmail and a clever blackmail at that.

Azulon eyed the scarred young woman before him. "You have caused quite a lot of trouble for your nation, girl," he growled.

"Please, Father. Iza knew nothing of the plan until it was too late for her to act," Iroh interjected. "The Jinhai are to blame."

"The Jinhai? The Jinhai are just playing the game of politics; this girl, this little tramp, has willfully seduced you into their trap!" roared Azulon. "Father a child on her and then cast her aside like the whore and traitor she is!"

Zania averted her eyes. She did feel guilty—Agni knew how guilty she had felt from the beginning—and she did blame herself for not figuring out the scheme in time, but she had never meant to hurt Iroh.

Again, Iroh spoke on her behalf. "Iza was tricked, just like the rest of us. I blame her for nothing more than doing the job for which she was hired. This is a poor situation for all of us, but lashing out at her will only create suspicion and inquiry as to who she is." Slowly and deliberately, Iroh took his wife's hand and kissed it gently. "She is my wife. Iza, Zania—whoever she is—is my wife and I will not let my vows be taken lightly, no matter the harm that has been done through her."

Ila placed a shaking hand on her husband's arm; Azulon's temper had always frightened her. "Iroh's right, my dear. We can't cast doubt on her or we cast it on us all." She gave her son a sad smile. "Go on, now. Nobody really expected to see either of you out in public for a week."

With her dismissal, the newlyweds walked hand-in-hand out the door and down the hallway to their massive oak door. Husband and wife walked through the portal and reemerged on the other side two strangers with nobody but each other.

* * *


	26. Doorway

Good news: I have a job. Bad news: I'm working a whole lot of hours and don't have a lot of time to write. Good news: I'm on vacation next week and might write some. Bad news: I won't have internet. Thanks for reading and for reviewing! Enjoy!

* * *

It was almost magic, the way that oaken door acted as the threshold between two different worlds. Iroh could instantly see the change from Iza to Zania every time they passed through it. Her eyes burned brighter, but her shoulders fell and she spoke only when spoken to in a voice filled with guilt and pain. Iroh supposed that he changed too, from the strong and proud Prince to a defeated young man with a stranger for a bride.

They still shared the bed, but it seemed that every night they found a way to get even farther from each other, vainly trying to ignore the fact that there was another person so near. The darkness that surrounded them filled them with loneliness.

Zania had been the first to try to initiate some sort of a relationship on this side of the door, but her well-meant attempt had been nothing more than slipping back into character as Iza, and Iroh could not bear living that way on both sides of the world. After that doomed effort, any progress that may have been made was lost and they again resorted to cold and casual small talk.

Outside of the door, however, Iroh and Iza were charmingly in love and constantly at each other's side. The strain of the pretending hardly showed upon either's face, though the careful observer could note the firm and unfamiliar way that the young newlyweds folded their hands together, the hands they had vowed to forever join together. Iroh knew his parents saw it and said nothing; their grudging approval of the marriage could keep the façade in place only if they played along.

* * *

A knock at the door woke Zania from her nap. She had not intended to fall asleep, but the plush chair had swallowed her weariness entirely. Another knock brought Iza to her feet and she carefully opened the door to find a sobbing Ursa suddenly thrusting herself into Iza's arms.

Surprised and confused, Iza held her little friend tightly until the tears subsided and Ursa reemerged with stained cheeks and puffy eyes.

"Hey there," Iza said with a smile as she handed Ursa a handkerchief and moved them out of that dratted doorway and into the parlor.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to just burst in on you like that," whispered Ursa, slightly abashed. "I just…and Ozai said something and…my mother…" She heaved a sigh. "My mother said I have no choice."

Iza pursed her lips, lost in thought. She knew all too well the hunger for power that the Jinhai had. They already had the royal family in their grasp; why not secure that with another Princess? She shook the thoughts from her head. She couldn't appear to know that much about Ursa's family. Iza didn't know those things; Zania did. She smiled at the young girl. "Why don't we go somewhere, hmm? Let's walk down to the market or something. Get away from politics for a while."

In no time at all, the two rather ordinary dressed young women were walking along a road secretly familiar to one. At Iroh's request, they had relented and allowed a guard in plain clothes to join them for security reasons, but other than his silent presence, they were alone in a world they seldom experienced.

The late afternoon sun shone against their backs as they let the crowd push them to and fro. It was a marvelous sight, the warm and crowded marketplace as opposed to the empty palace; it was easy to forget the troubles they had left behind. Dinner was a loaf of bread and some cheese obtained from a vendor Zania could never afford and Iza spotted from the sea of stands selling everything from flowers to incense. Guard in tow, they strolled along the darkening square and chatted about nonsense.

As the sun began to set, Iza led Ursa to a special point in the city, telling her that it was one of the few things she remembered of her parents. That was true, in part. Zania had been told that this little place where the sidewalk rested on a hill was where her parents had met, but she was pretty sure that was a lie she believed for the sake of believing something, a story she retold because she wanted to have some sort of its history. It would be the perfect place to finish off the rest of the chocolate they had bought while watching the sun set over the city.

But it was the farthest thing from perfection Zania could imagine. Lit by the golden violet of the sunset was a tall, sturdily handsome young man kneeling before a pretty brunette with tears of joy in her dark eyes. Liro and the tramp.

"Oh, look, Iza!" whispered Ursa excitedly. "Look at the ring in his hands! How romantic."

Zania could hear the sigh in the younger girl's voice and even the guard seemed reluctantly touched by the scene before them. "Yeah, it is, isn't it?" she choked out. A stifled sob escaped her throat as a small cough. "We should…We should go. We don't want to intrude."

* * *

Iroh knew something was wrong as soon as he walked through the door; not a candle was burning. Though Zania still couldn't bend, she hated the dark and would leave something lit even if she wasn't there. Iroh carefully inched his way across the room with a small flame in the palm of his hand and turned the knob to their bedroom. A muffled sound caught his ears. Zania was sitting on the floor with her knees brought to her chest, crying.

Iroh hesitated, unsure what to do. It had been so difficult lately, nearly impossible to talk to each other, like walking on eggshells.

"Zania?" he whispered, closing the door behind him. He could see her stiffen at the sound of his voice. "Are you…alright?" He bit his lip. Stupid question. "I mean…should I leave?"

An eternity passed before he could make out her shaking her head. Unsure which question she was answering, Iroh stood still and waited. Something golden fell out of Zania's hand. Iroh knew it at once to be one of the two strangely shaped pieces she kept with her all the time, and though he didn't know what they were, he knew they had something to do with the fruit seller.

So this was about him. This man that had unwittingly destroyed both Zania and Iroh's lives. Everything went back to this man. Iroh could feel the anger rising within him and he spoke with a quiet venom. "What has he done, Zania?"

Barely, Zania's head raised and her eyes met his and her heartbreaking voice cut through her tears. "He's marrying her."

Every ounce of wrath in Iroh screamed as he watched tears once again fall from his wife's eyes. "Oh, Zania…" He walked slowly to her side and sat beside her, taking her in his arms, the flame in his hand dying. He tried to ignore the fact that the last time he held her—the last time he had _really_ held her—she had just torn his world to pieces.

She resisted at first, but soon, her arms were around his neck and she was crying into his shoulder. Gently, he lifted her and placed her into their bed. She gave a small cry as he untangled his arms from her, but he soon climbed in beside her and held her once again. Zania soon cried herself to sleep within the safety of Iroh's heartbeat, but Iroh stayed awake, savoring the feel of his wife's scarred face against his skin.

* * *

Iroh woke with a start; something was burning. He sat up quickly, immediately noting the absence of his wife. "Zania?" he called out, worried. "Zania?"

The bedroom doors burst open and she came in, holding a tea pot. The smell followed Zania in; she was holding a singed teapot. Iroh stared at her in shock. "What in the world is going on here?" he asked, jumping out of bed. "What happened?"

Zania's lips trembled as she tried to form an apologetic smile. "Last night…" She took a deep breath. "I wanted to thank you for last night." She looked down at the pot in her hands, whispering the rest. "I knew you liked tea." Her eyes shyly wandered upwards, warily searching Iroh.

Iroh bit his lip as he realized what she meant and what this meant. This was his chance. This was their chance. This foul-smelling tea was their chance to fix the world on this side of the door. He met her eyes with his and he bowed deeply to her. "I would like to take tea with you, Lady, if you have any to spare."

She smiled and walked back into their parlor. Iroh followed, trying to hide his coughing as he entered the smoke filled room. They kneeled together in front of the fire, where Zania had prepared a table in anticipation. Silently, they drank the tea, their grimaces concealed by their willingness to seize the opportunity to save their façade of a marriage.

Suddenly, Zania stood up and took the teapot with her. Opening a window, she poured its contents onto the unsuspecting rose bush below. Iroh watched her with amusement, setting his tea cup down on the table. "Does this mean I don't have to drink the rest of this?" he asked, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"As long as I don't have to," Zania answered, laughing through the tension.

Iroh's jovial laugh joined hers and the parlor fire jittered with their delight. "Here," he said, still chuckling. "Let me call for some real tea."

"Okay," she answered between gasping breaths. He walked to the door and sent the guard for tea. Iroh turned around to take in the sight of his laughing bride. Even kneeling on the floor, her posture spoke volumes about her ability as a dancer; Iroh wondered how he had never noticed it before. Her neck gracefully arched out from her curved back and her glossy black hair shimmered in the fire still flickering with her mirth.

"Wait," Iroh said, staring at the fire. "Zania, look. Look at the fire."

"What about it?" Zania asked, still laughing as she turned to look at the fire. Shock crossed her face and the fire died down as her laughter disappeared. Warily, she reached her hand to the flame. Both held their breath as she pulled a pulsing sphere of fire from the hearth. She looked up in surprise, but soon yelped; the fire had burnt her hand.

Cradling her hand, she walked dazedly to their bathroom, where Iroh helped her pour cool water over the red skin. He stood behind her, helping her hold the water pitcher up with one hand and gently holding her burned hand in the other. "I don't think it'll scar," he said over her shoulder. "We just need to take good care of it, I think."

"Mmm," she hummed in response, mesmerized by the burn. They stood there, even after the pitcher was empty, simply resting in the moment. Iroh marveled at the way her body felt uncomfortably natural against his own. A knock at the door reminded them of the tea, and a sheepish Iroh went to take the servant's tray. He set the tray down on a table in the front room and returned to Zania's side, where she was still staring at her hand. She glanced up and met his eyes in the mirror. "Do you think? Do you think I could bend now?"

"You can try." Iroh smiled at her, tentatively resting a hand on her shoulder.

Zania looked down and whispered to the water basin. "I don't want to do this alone."

Iroh could connect with the desolation in her voice; he had never felt so alone than in this past two months of marriage. But he had never been completely alone. Neither one of them had ever been truly alone. They had suffered side-by-side; they were just too stubborn to reach out for help. He caught her chin with the palm of his hand and rested his thumb against her bottom lip. "You will never be alone. I will never leave you alone. I promise."

* * *

Ursa gaily walked along the corridor leading to the training arena balconies, hoping to watch Ozai's morning practice. Something about her time with Iza the night before had helped her come to terms with what could be her future. Ozai was a good man; it would be a comfortable marriage should her family decide to arrange it for her. Lost in thought, she almost didn't recognize the shout of joy coming from the nearest arena. Curious, she stepped over to watch what was happening.

Iza and Iroh were there, practicing side by side. In all the time she had spent with the Princess, Ursa had never known that she could bend. The thrusts of fire that she produced were nowhere near as powerful as Iroh's, but there was a certain peace with which she moved that Iroh lacked. Even when they mirrored each other's form, Iroh seemed to master the flame where Iza embraced it as a partner. The way they moved with each other was a sort of discordant harmony that made Ursa sigh. Their love was so beautifully apparent; would it ever be that way with Ozai?

Ursa gasped as Iza lost her balance and fell, but a smile crossed her face as Iroh rushed to her side and pulled her to her feet, fussing over her the whole time. He softly brushed imaginary dirt from her cheek, an intense but hesitating look of compassion and adoration on both faces. Blushing, Ursa realized how intimate the moment was for them and returned to the hallway and her search for Ozai. With every step she echoed across the floor, she made a fervent wish for a love like she had just witnessed.

* * *

Time froze as Zania looked into her husband's golden eyes. She forgot the twisted manipulation that had brought them to this point. She forgot the man that had broken her heart for the last time just the night before. She forgot the past. She forgot the future. All she knew, all she wanted to know, was in this moment.

She absorbed the sight of the man before her; she took in the way his thick eyebrows relaxed over his deep set eyes, the way his body shimmered with the sweat, the way his hand seemed to fit perfectly along the side of her face. Iroh was a man to behold. She felt his fingers trace the length of her scar and she closed her eyes to avoid the disgust she expected.

None came. Instead, Zania felt Iroh's lips press against the scar. Surprised, her eyes flew open and she stepped back. Iroh coughed nervously and stared at the ground. "Why don't we go back through that last set of forms?" he suggested to the dirt. He looked up as he felt a small hand reach into his own hand.

"I think we should take a break," she replied quietly with a shy but reassuring smile. "Lunchtime, I think."

They walked through the training room door into the corridor and walked hand in hand back to the large oak door that led to their quarters. As Iroh opened the door, Zania watched him intently for the shift in character that had become part of passing through the door. But for the first time since their wedding night, Iroh and Zania walked through the door and came out the same on the other side.


	27. Secrets

It's been forever and I'm eternally sorry. I hope this chapter makes up for the long wait and that I can try to get this finished sometime soon. Please review if you feel so inclined; I'd really appreciate it, though I certainly don't deserve it.

All my love,  
Karynna

* * *

Two years had done little to change Ozai's opinion of his sister-in-law. Iza was still quirky, strange and frustrating to be around. She had learned the mannerisms of the court somewhat, but Ozai felt that most of her fumblings were crafted to hide something else. Something like the memory she kindled but never quite revealed. Especially now, as Ozai watched the last minutes of her training with Master Jeong Jeong while waiting his turn for the arena. He and Zhao had planned to spar together; the two had grown closer since Iroh had married and left Zhao to find a new practice partner.

"Yes, yes," murmured Jeong Jeong as he watched Iza delicately swing a strain of flame across the sky. He clapped solemnly as she bowed to her master. "You have come very far, Princess, though your bending is quite unorthodox."

Ozai smirked silently as he watched Iza's mind stumble over the word but turned away as he heard the master start to gently explain what he meant. Zhao caught his eye as he swaggered over to Ozai's side. "Been watching our esteemed Princess?" he chuckled quietly.

Zhao received a very deliberate eye roll for an answer. "I've spent the past two years trying to figure out what Iroh sees in her. She's dumb, ugly, and backwards," snorted Ozai. "I just don't get it."

"Maybe she has special talents," Zhao offered. "I think we both know how much time the happy couple spends alone together."

Ozai grimaced at the thought. "Even still…" He coughed as he removed his shirt. "I mean, look at her," he said, sending a pointed look in her direction. "She can't even bend normally."

A certain flare lit Zhao's eyes momentarily as he carefully selected his words. "You're right, Ozai. She bends more like a common Firedancer than a lady of the court."

There it was again. That relentless memory. Ozai pursed his lips in thought, trying to connect Iza to that mysterious image. A Firedancer. He watched her carefully as she started her final round of bending. Zhao was right. Zhao was very right. Too right, perhaps. Like he knew that secret memory that had frustrated Ozai for years.

His thoughts were broken suddenly by a surprising eruption of fire from Iza's hand. Mortified, she looked to the master and stammered an apology. He gave her an appraising look, but otherwise dismissed the occurrence, declaring practice to be over for the morning. The young then took over the hot sands and began their sparring match as the Princess and the Master gathered their things and left.

* * *

Zania groaned as she snapped a third quill that evening. "What is wrong with me?" she growled.

Iroh looked up from his book to look at Iza, lost. Her control of temper had been steadily degrading all night, and paired with her recent complaints of sickness, the past few weeks had been torturous. "There's nothing wrong with you, sweetheart," he offered for the millionth time.

"Don't lie to me," she snapped. "My bending's been erratic and I'm constantly irritated and sick to my stomach."

"Maybe your cycle's coming back around?" he offered nervously. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

Iza broke another quill as it dropped from her hand and she looked intently at Iroh. "What did you just say?"

He froze, cautiously avoiding his wife's gaze. She seemed to be satisfied with his silence, setting the calligraphy practice aside as she went to check the tea brewing in the fireplace. It had become one of her favorite hobbies once she learned to brew a decent pot. Chamomile was her choice tonight, probably to soothe her frazzled nerves.

She poured two cups and carried them over to where he sat in a chair. Silently, she set one cup on the side table and kneeled on the floor with her own cup. Iza rested her back against his leg and began to drink her tea. She said nothing else for the rest of the night, peacefully lost in thought. Iroh, however, was far from peaceful. Something about Zania's sudden silence freaked him out just a bit.

* * *

Zania's questions drove her away from her normal routine. She skipped breakfast with her husband, sneaking away from their bed before he woke up. She knew she had to act early if she wanted to speak to her mother-in-law that morning, so she quietly dressed, vomited, and headed across the palace grounds to the private parlor reserved specifically for the Fire Lady and her daily business. Respectfully, she knelt at the entrance to wait.

It wasn't long before Ila and her servants walked serenely down the hallway to find Iza patiently waiting at the door. Surprised, she reached for her hand to help her up. "Good morning, Iza. To what do I owe the pleasure of your very early presence?"

Iza smiled as she took Ila's hand and stood up next to her and bowed. "I guess I just have a few questions." She nervously eyed the staff around her. "Kinda personal questions."

Ila dismissed the staff and took Iza inside the cozy room. A neat stack of files sat on a small table between two overstuffed couches. They sat across from each other, and Iza shivered and looked at the ground, unsure what to say. Noting her discomfort, Ila stood and lit the fire in the fireplace. She sat down next to Iza this time, placing a hand around her slender shoulders. "What is it?"

"I've never really had anyone to talk with about this sort of thing." Iza smiled sheepishly and looked up. "Lady Ila," she measured her words carefully, as though afraid of what she was saying. "I think I might be pregnant."

A joyous smile shone from the older woman's face. "Oh, Iza!" she exclaimed.

"I don't know for sure, though," Iza said, cautioning against wild hope. "Everything's there. I'm sick, irritable. It's been almost two months since my last cycle." She looked across the room, studying an intricate rug. "Iroh really wants a family and I don't want to get his hopes up if I'm wrong."

Ila placed her hand on Iza's scarred face, turning it towards her. She looked into her daughter-in-law's eyes with an assuring smile. "Don't worry, my dear. We'll take care of everything."

* * *

If Iroh was worried when his wife didn't join him for breakfast that morning, she couldn't see it in his face when she returned that evening. She found no trace of it the next night either. Or the next. But after eight days, Zania could tell that Iroh was concerned.

Instead of the usual warm reception, she was greeted that night with a pacing husband. His usually jovial face was lined with an uneasiness that made Iza almost feel guilty for abandoning him that past week. But, for once, she had a happy secret and she had been set on making certain her happy secret was true. A week's worth of visits to medics, herbalists and healers told her it was and now her spirits were high and her heart laughing. Nothing could bring her down, not even the look on his face. Besides, she was about to change that look for good.

Iroh looked up to see her trying to quietly shut the door behind her. "At least you haven't taken to disappearing at night, too." He offered her a half-hearted smile and turned to face the roaring fireplace. "It seems that you've been giving everyone the slip lately. You canceled your lunch date with Rong and Ursa. You haven't appeared in court since last weekend. Even Master Jeong Jeong said he has not seen you all week."

Iza smiled. That was a lie; the master had sought her out the second day and very quickly figured out what was happening, but he promised not to say anything to Iroh. She silently made her way to where he stood, slipping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his back, afraid to let him see her face lest she give it all away. "I won't be able to spar with you in the morning, either."

He tensed. Every muscle in his body became rigid, but Zania still held tight to him, fighting down a laugh. "Is that so?"

"Yep." Her hands moved from his waist to his shoulders as she pulled herself up on her tiptoes to kiss the back of his neck lightly. He shivered and she couldn't hold back a giggle. She kissed him again.

"Stop that," he groaned. "You're not getting out of this."

"I didn't plan to." Another kiss, another shiver, another laugh. "I plan on being this way for a while."

"Zania…" She didn't bother to answer, sweetly unfastening the clasp at his throat instead. Iroh grabbed her hands. "Stop it."

"Why?"

"Because you're trying to distract me from the fact that you're keeping something from me."

"Yes, I am."

He pulled her around to face him, holding her mischievous hands to his chest with one hand, catching her chin with the other. "Well?"

Iza deliberately avoided his stern gaze, turning her face to gently kiss the thumb so conveniently resting on the edge of her lips. "Well, what?"

"Where have you been?"

She looked into his eyes with a mirthful smirk. "With your mother. She's a very lovely lady, you know."

"Yes, she is." He narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out his little wife. "But was it necessary for you to spend the entire week with her?"

"I had a few questions and she helped me find the answers."

"Why couldn't I help you?"

"You wouldn't know how."

He appeared genuinely hurt at that, dropping his eyes and her hands. "Why not?"

Zania smiled as she snaked her liberated arms around his neck and drew close to him. "You've never been pregnant before, my dear."

"Of course I've never…" Zania grinned as Iroh looked at her in wonder. "You're serious?" She could find no more words, laughing with delight. He gave a cry of joy, picking her up with a kiss and holding her tight.

They spent the night that way, with joy and kisses and laughter and shivers and songs and tears, never bothering to leave the merry fireside for their bedroom. Long after she fell asleep in his arms, Iroh stroked her hair and whispered his delight into her ears. He was going to be a father.

* * *


	28. Weakens

The whole court was in a frenzy over the expanding waistline of their beloved, awkward princess. The lords took care to treat her with a special gentleness, as though she might break. Even their words were softer, as though the power of a misspoken word might harm her precious cargo. Each boasted of the unborn child as if it were his own, predicting how strong a man he would be, how beautiful a daughter.

The women were even more enthusiastic, showering Iza with advice and gifts and compliments. They squealed with joy when they felt the baby kick and brought in the strangest dishes from all parts of the nation to help satisfy her cravings. The older ones relived their own experiences, clucking their sympathy and counsel as the mother-to-be winced with her swollen ankles and aching back. The younger women sighed with envy, becoming more and more interested in things like long-term commitment and families and settling down.

Zhao found the whole situation rather frustrating. The young women he was used to wooing and dropping were suddenly far less willing to be just one night's entertainment. Their heads were filled with ridiculous notions about marriage and commitment and the usual lines weren't working anymore. Zhao's nights had been far less interesting lately.

On the other hand, he had more energy to fight Ozai in their weekly matches. It was still a challenge, of course; the young Prince had enormous talent and had had the best of teachers. Zhao didn't really care; Ozai was easily distracted when little cousin Ursa came to watch, something Zhao used to his full advantage. It was just too easy.

Ah, here she was now, pretty little thing. Just in time, Ozai and Zhao were stretching their toned bodies and trading the traditional quasi-friendly put downs before their bout. Ursa's eyes were glued to Ozai as his arms moved with impressive grace and strength. When he finally noticed her, he crossed the warm sands to where she stood. She curtseyed with a smile and he grabbed her hands as she rose. Smiling, he bowed over them, gently kissing them.

Zhao coughed theatrically. "Are you going to fight or are you going to play with your girlfriend?"

There was a moment as Ozai turned back to fight that honestly could have frightened Zhao. Something dangerous in his eyes that made him seem to be far beyond almost sixteen years old. But that was ridiculous; Zhao feared nothing. "Jealous, Zhao?" taunted the prince, his hands on fire.

"Nothing to be jealous of," retorted Zhao.

"We'll see."

As though on cue, the two bowed. A flurry of fire rained from above Zhao as he unleashed a wild fury of flames against his opponent. Ozai's arms arched skywards as he pulled the oncoming fire into a thousand fiery needles to shoot back at Zhao, who slashed through them, allowing them to fall on either side of him.

"Gonna have to do better than that, Ozai!" grunted Zhao as he began a new attack, recklessly sending fire all too close to Ursa, only to have it bend back toward the prince at the last minute. Zhao relished in the fear that was so plain on both of their faces; they were so weak because they cared about one another.

That was the most foolish thing of all. Iroh had lost every shred of manliness and dignity to that planted firedancer and now Ozai was losing it for Ursa. Fools. Marriage was for politics, not romance. Love made men weak, gave their enemies an opening to exploit. The proof was there every time Zhao swung the fire closer to Ursa, forcing Ozai to lose concentration in order to save his girl.

Ozai seemed to expect the move though, parrying the swinging fire with short, fierce, deterring blasts. Each of his hits made Zhao's fire return in the direction from which it came, slowly pinning Zhao against a wall. Zhao swore. This was not going as expected. Another few minutes of this and Ozai's hands would be around Zhao's throat.

In a desperate effort to throw Ozai off his game, Zhao swung his fist in a semicircle, wildly slinging fire in the prince's direction. Nothing could stop the attacks, though, and Zhao had only one last chance to fight back. He fired a final attack, a large mass burning its way through the air to Ozai. For a split second, he thought he might just win this yet, but Ozai's lean frame stretched gracefully to redirect Zhao's fire into the ground at Zhao's feet, stirring up dust and sand till neither man could see a thing.

Zhao's fleeting sense of panic led him to send sporadic flames in all the directions around him, only to have them return to his feet, keeping the air thick and blinding. He finally stood still, trying to wait, trying to be patient. The dust began to settle, slowly revealing a smoothly posed Ozai, whose shoulders tensed with the obvious power running through his body. In one fluid motion, the first two fingers of his left hand released a tremendous bolt of lightning, warping its path around Zhao in order to bring him to his hands and knees.

"Had to learn a new trick to keep up with me, huh?" challenged Zhao as he stood up, straightening his body. "Couldn't take me without those pretty little lights? Can't defend yourself like a man? Poor Ursa…she must be so disappointed." He spat at the ground, sliding into an arched attack and trying to unbalance Ozai. The prince nimbly sidestepped the strike, unleashing an electric storm, taking care to shock Zhao in the process.

The pain was unbelievable. His entire body was on fire; he felt his limbs twitching as he fell face down on the earth. Zhao struggled to control his movements, but even as Ozai cut off the energy and approached him, his arms trembled. He felt Ozai nudge him with his foot, effectively rolling him over to face that hawk-eye stare.

"Yield," commanded the prince, raising his hands in preparation for another jolt of lightning.

Bruised pride ate at Zhao's insides, making vomiting sound like a terribly good idea. But he fought down the bile with a snarl. "I yield."

Ozai smirked and reached for Zhao's hand, pulling him to his feet. "Good match."

Zhao grumbled some sort of agreement and stalked out of the arena after a quick, stiff bow.

Ozai would have been concerned for his friend's sore feelings but for the sound of Ursa approaching across the sand. He grabbed a towel and dabbed at his neck, absorbing the victorious sweat on his skin.

"Congratulations," she murmured from behind him. "Though I'm not surprised. My cousin has no discipline, but you…" She shifted slightly towards him. "You were magnificent. So in control. Precise." Ozai turned and took in every movement of her body, every muscle shuddering with awe. He allowed himself an inward smile, marveling at how he had caused those beautiful tremors, delighting in seeing that he could cause her to feel that way.

Ursa blushed and looked away from Ozai's powerful eyes. She took a long steadying breath and looked back at him, admiration and desire in her eyes. "Would you join me for lunch, Ozai? It's been too long since you spent time with only me."

Oh, the irony in that pretty girl's pretty voice. Here he was, preening over the power he had over her after a half hour of physical display, and after two sentences, she had canceled his plans for the entire day.

She smiled, knowing she had already won. He looked down into her shining eyes. When had they gotten so close, he had no clue, but he found nothing wrong with it. He faked a protest with a half smile. "I'm dirty and sweaty. Not suitable lunch companionship, I'm afraid."

Her perfect hands slid around his neck, drawing him close. Sweat and all. "I don't care," Ursa said defiantly.

"You don't?" he challenged, kissing her cheek and deliberately transferring his sweat to her face.

"No."

"What about this?" He kissed her neck, pulling her flush against him with one dirty hand against her clean robes and another in her carefully-arranged hair.

"No." Her reply was a little breathless this time. Ozai smiled.

"And this?" He drew her in to a deep, sweet kiss.

If only moments like these would last.

----

"Your brother and Ursa seem to be getting along really well."

Iroh laughed. "They always have."

"I caught them making out in the training arena this morning," Zania said with a giggle. "It was kinda sweet. I'm glad they're happy."

Iroh rolled on his side to look down at her content face. She looked so pretty, lying there with her head on his arm, cradled to his side, staring into space. He carefully laid his free hand on her growing belly.

"Don't do that." Zania snapped, stiffening. "You're just reminding me how fat I am."

Her husband left his hand where it was. "You've never looked more beautiful, love." She exhaled sharply, so he moved it, grabbed her hands, and brought them back to her stomach. "I could never lie to you. You're the most beautiful thing in the world, even more so for this."

Zania rolled her eyes. "Liar."

"Never. Never to you." He smiled as he felt her body relaxing against his once again. Disaster averted.

Iroh had heard that pregnancy made women crazy, but Zania had far exceeded his expectations. There were times like these, when she seemed at peace with everything in the world. Then there were times when peace was a very distant dream. He had walked last week in to find a vase flying dangerously close to his head. Her favorite dress didn't fit anymore and Zania felt very strongly that Iroh was to blame. He had listened to two hours worth of accusations and screams and tantrums when, suddenly, she was weeping in his arms and apologizing profusely.

Still, perilous vases aside, Iroh loved being with his wife and unborn child. It was intoxicating to have them there with him. He treasured every moment as though it were their last; he wanted to remember everything.

"We still haven't picked out a name," she said, pulling her hands away.

"We have two more months, you know."

She punched him in the shoulder. "Which is why we should be getting ready, silly."

He laughed. "I suppose so."

"Well?"

"Well…" Iroh frowned. "I really don't know. What were you thinking?"

"If it's a girl, I was thinking Azula. After your dad."

He pulled back a bit. "I thought you didn't like him much."

She smiled. "I don't. But the name is pretty."

"There's more to it than that, isn't there?"

"I want him to like her even though she's mine."

"Oh."

Silence filled the room for awhile, uncomfortable at first. Living two lives had become so routine that neither of them really thought about it much anymore. There was always a numb sort of pain anytime it was brought up, like the dull ache of a bruise that wouldn't go away. Iroh pulled her closer and pressed a kiss on her forehead.

"What about a boy?" he murmured.

"I like Lu Ten."

---

"Does it hurt when the baby kicks?" Ursa asked, amazed as she felt the little thing move again, pressing against her hand through its mother's skin.

Iza laughed and the baby seemed to like the sound, kicking all the more excitedly. "It was weird at first. A little uncomfortable, but you get used to it." She blissfully closed her eyes, basking in the movements. "It's one of the best feelings in the world, I think."

Rong snorted. "Enjoy it for the both of us, then. There's no way you'll ever catch me pregnant."

"You don't want a baby?" Ursa's eyes were wide with astonishment.

"I have no problem with babies," Rong replied. "It's men I have a problem with."

'They're not all so awful," Iza argued. "Besides, you seemed to enjoy the company of that one young officer last week at the banquet."

"He was pretty good looking," agreed Ursa.

"Stop it," she protested, halfway smiling. "He was not."

Iza's eyebrows rose. "Yeah, sure."

A grumble from a blushing Rong proved her point. "Fine. He was gorgeous. Happy?"

Ursa snorted as tea trickled out of her mouth. She swallowed desperately and began laughing out loud, Rong and Iza joining her. Two of the three young women were soon doubled over in their seats; Iza couldn't quite bend herself that way anymore. Just laughing so hard was proving to be difficult; it hurt.

She closed her eyes in pain, trying to breathe evenly to break the feeling. But the deep breaths came out as shuddering gasps. Iza felt the baby kick harder and harder as she tried to even her breathing, the gasps becoming quiet cries. Rong's ears pricked at the sound and the laughter died very quickly as the girls realized what was happening with the Princess. Rong panicked, but Ursa reacted smoothly, holding Iza's hand and spoke with a soothing voice.

"Where are you hurting, Iza?"

Gasp. Gasp. Cry. Gasp. Breathe, breathe, speak. "My chest. My lungs, breathing…"

Ursa stood and grabbed both of Iza's arms and gently pulled them over her head to expand her lungs. "C'mon, girl. Breathe slowly, shallow at first. C'mon, you can do this."

Time passed so slowly, it seemed to have stopped altogether. The Princess's flushed, frightened face glistened with sweat as her breathing finally evened out. The excess blood drained from her face as Ursa returned her arms to her side, but the fear lingered in every girl's face.

Surprisingly, it was Iza that recovered first. With a steadying hand on the table, she rose to her feet. "I think it might be time for me to head back home. Iroh and I are having dinner with his parents tonight, and I should rest a bit first, I think." Rong rushed to her side to act as a crutch, but Iza waved her aside. "I'm fine."

"You're fine?" Rong asked, doubtful. "Don't lie to us, Iza."

"You try laughing with thirty jin of baby weight pressing on your lungs."

---

Traveling at seven and a half months pregnant was not something Iza had suggested. No, it was her idiot husband who decided that joining the special procession to the Avatar's temple for the winter solstice was a good idea. And Zania made sure Iroh knew very well what kind of a cruddy decision he had made, having his poor wife suffer through the stress and pains of travel.

He was kneeling at her swollen feet now, carefully washing them with hot water and sweet-smelling soap, so Zania couldn't be too mad at him. No, it was near impossible to be angry when he looked up at her with those smiling gold eyes and wide smile. Darn it all. How could she possibly stay angry at that?

"Feeling any better, love?"

"I guess," Iza huffed.

He chuckled, grabbing a rag and gingerly drying her feet. "The solstice is tomorrow, so we'll be going home soon."

"Not soon enough."

Iroh moved the basin of water and pulled her up to stand in his embrace. "I know this hasn't been easy, but my father really needed us to be here."

"Why? So we can publicly condone his attempt to rule the world?"

"You know it's more than that, Zania. You know how much this war means to our nation." Zania felt him sigh, his chest and her head rising and falling. "We need this war. It will bring peace and unity when we've finished."

"I know," Iza replied quietly. "I just wish he didn't need us to travel halfway across the Fire Nation to this forsaken island so that he could waste time pretending to ask a dead Avatar's favor."

"Come on, now. It's not so bad here." With a smile, Iroh pushed her away from him and pulled her toward the open balcony. "Just look at the sunset."

"It is pretty," Zania conceded, staring out at the fiery red sky reflecting over the ocean. It gave off an eerie, foreboding sort of light, bathing the world in a rich, blood-tinted scarlet.

"You're pretty."

"You're lame," she laughed, kissing him on the cheek. She closed her eyes and snuggled closer to Iroh for support. Standing for so long was tiring her; traveling had sapped what spare energy she had once possessed. "Can we go to bed now?"

"Now? It's still so early." She felt him look down at her, briefly touching his lips to her hair. Zania looked more than weary. Her amber eyes lacked their usual spark and her lips looked closer to white than pink. All part of being pregnant, probably.

"I'm sleepy."

"I can see that." Iroh placed an arm around her shoulder and guided her back into the ornate bedroom. He shut the doors to the balcony before embracing his wife. "Time for bed, then."

He helped her dress into a sleeping gown and into the bed. He undressed quietly and curled up next to and around her, embracing her as they lay in the dark. This was Zania's favorite thing, feeling him next to her, part of her. Nothing could harm her when Iroh was so close.

She turned her head so that they were lying face to face. "I love you, Iroh."

"I love you, Zania."

---

Somewhere between his wife screaming that her water broke and the sudden wetness around his legs, Iroh woke up. Zania was clinging to his hand for dear life, her fingernails clawing into his skin as a contraction washed over her. Bewildered, Iroh looked at his wife and asked her what was happening.

"I'm having a baby, you idiot."

"I know that, Zania," he stated sleepily. "But what's happening right now?"

Panting as the pain subsided, Iza ground out, "I'm having the baby right now, Iroh."

Iroh fell out of bed.

"Good. You're up," she said drily. "Now, go get your mother." He stared at her blankly. "Now, Iroh!"

He ran. He ran out of the room and down the long hallway, his footsteps echoing through the temple. It seemed like he had been running for miles when Iroh finally stopped in front of an elaborate door guarded by several burly men with spears. The guards bowed when they recognized the disheveled Prince and stepped aside to allow him entrance into the chamber's sitting room.

"Mom!" he called as he burst through the doors. "Mom!"

He was confronted by the fiery fists of his father trying to pin him to a wall. "Who do you think you are, coming in the night like this?" Azulon blazed, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"Father, it's me, Iroh," he explained. "I think Zan—Iza's going into labor."

The Fire Lady Ila poked her head from around the door to the bedroom. "Iza's having the baby now?" Worry stretched its way over the older woman's face. It was too early. Six weeks too early.

Azulon growled and began to pace. "Of course she's going into labor early, the weak little whore. Gonna give you a worthless heir, she will."

"Hush," snapped his wife as she pulled on an outer robe. Iroh blinked at the sudden commanding tone his mother had acquired. "Come, Iroh. Your baby's arriving soon and I will not have you missing this."

Iroh obeyed without a word. It had become apparent that his mother was in charge, and he was not going to argue with a woman over childbirth.

---


	29. Patient

I apologize for this taking so long. I totally realize that most of you probably have given up on me, but I appreciate that you've taken the time to read what I've written. It has been a learning process for me, and I am grateful for every hit, reader, and review.

That said, please enjoy!  
Karynna

* * *

A thick wooden door separated Iroh from his wife, but he could still hear the groans and curses that sporadically erupted from his wife. The Fire Lady had all but shoved Iroh out of the bedroom turned birthing room long ago, and he now sat anxiously on the floor outside, watching the sun out the hallway window.

The cold winter sky had long since surrendered to the rich light of the sun. Iroh could see the waves sparkle as they crashed against the rocky shore. He had planned on taking Zania down to the beach early this morning before all the ceremonial hoopla started, but obviously, plans had changed. He smiled as he realized that their next beach trip would likely be a trip for three.

Sounds of the temple's residents awakening filtered through Iza's moaning to reach the prince's ears, and he could hear the excitement flowing through the people as news of Iza's labor spread. For a brief moment, Iroh regretted his position and its lack of privacy, but as he had never really known anonymity, he decided that there was no point in missing it.

The few nobles who had made the trip out for the solstice ceremony were now walking toward Iroh. Iroh reluctantly stood to greet them, finding himself wishing that they had come for the sake of a child's birth instead of the scheming lure of politics.

"I am surprised hear your wife has gone into labor, Prince Iroh," said the eldest of the men after they had bowed. "Forgive me, my Lord, for I am not good with keeping track of these sort of things, but I had thought that she was due to give birth nearly two months from now."

Iroh nodded, still staring out the window and straining to hear what was happening in the birthing room.

The nobleman's wife tutted at Iroh's response, crooning, "I certainly hope that nothing's wrong, my Lord. We all hope for a healthy delivery, of course, but the timing is quite alarming. Has everything been going well for our dear princess?"

"Now now," said one of the other women. "Some babies just aren't patient enough to wait; there's nothing wrong with that."

Iroh muttered some sort of response, grateful for the woman's intervention. He winced as he heard his wife again, wishing not for the first time that he could be with her, supporting her with his love, welcoming their child together. But childbirth was a woman's arena, and Iroh was banished out here, surrounded by petty scheming nobles and the lonely echoes of the corridor, staring out the window and waiting.

The sudden rushing noise of people moving aside and murmuring reverent greetings announced the presence of the Fire Lord, but Iroh didn't turn until Azulon placed a hand on his shoulder. Iroh turned and inclined his head, pointed looking past his father to the door which hid his wife.

"Father."

"Has the child come yet?" asked Azulon, his voice barely masking his disappointment and disdain.

"No."

"I see," the Fire Lord replied, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Then I shall expect your presence at the noon ceremony."

Iroh looked at his father, his voice a whisper. "Dad..."

But the Fire Lord had already turned and walked away, leaving the cluster of nobles to resume their conversation, politely ignoring what had just happened.

* * *

Zania could feel every muscle in her body tense and strain; even her toes hurt. She tried to focus on something else, tried counting the number of women in the room, tried to imagine what Iroh was doing, but nothing could distract her from how completely worn out she was. She had lost track of time, but it seemed that Iza had been in here for years, centuries even.

Ila stood in the corner, whispering with the midwife. The Fire Lady noticed that Iza was watching her and smiled reassuringly, as if that would erase all of Zania's worry. She started to speak up, to ask what the whispers were about, but a now familiar pain came over her and she began another contraction.

One of the doulas beside her grabbed her hand and started to murmur encouragement about breathing evenly and purposefully, but Zania's breath came out in ragged groans, almost like a drawn out sigh. Her body quaked with the effort, but when the pain had passed it seemed that she had accomplished nothing.

Her breathing was more natural now, if a bit heavy. Iza was tired, purely exhausted. Somewhere in the middle of the pain, Ila had appeared at her side and brushed the hair out of Iza's face.

"Would you like some water, dear?" she asked. Iza envied her calm; Zania envied her knowledge.

Zania nodded, joking, "What I want is to be out of here!" She chuckled weakly, too tired to really laugh. "How long has it been?"

A guarded look stole over Ila's face before she answered. "The noon ceremony just started, so it's been about seven hours."

Iza closed her eyes. Seven hours. "Is that…normal?"

"It's a little long, but not unheard of, especially for a firstborn." A few of the women in the room nodded. "Nothing to be concerned about."

A servant handed Iza a glass of water. "Anything else, Lady?"

Iza shook her head no as she handed the glass to Ila, feeling the beginnings of another round of pain. She grit her teeth, determined to feel past the pain this time. As she focused, she felt a shudder run through her body, head to toe. It ended slowly, painfully, with a sickening finality.

Zania's heart began to ache. She knew that she was early, that few babies survived this early. She tried not to think about what would happen if she lost the baby; the Fire Lord had already made it clear that nothing less than a healthy grandchild would appease him. Her breathing hitched again as she fought back a sob and her eyes fluttered as they held tears back.

Ila looked at her with concern, but nothing needed to be said. Every woman in the room could sense the building anxiety and the burning questions.

* * *

Marble floors were not made for kneeling, and it hadn't taken much time for Iroh to figure it out. His shins felt like they would splinter against the hard surface, but the ceremony was far from over.

Iroh tried to concentrate as the Fire Lord droned on in prayers and blessings and supplications for blessings and offerings and promises of peace to the statue of the Avatar, but neither the prince nor Roku heard any of it. Iroh's mind was far away, standing outside a wooden door and waiting with mixed joy and worry. He didn't think that childbirth took this long, though he knew not to trust his own knowledge as expert.

An uncomfortable pause in the room brought Iroh back to the hard floor and apparently interrupted endless droning. He swallowed as he tried to remember the words he was supposed to recite now, but his mouth went dry as his mind went blank.

"As the sun illuminates the sky, we wish to illuminate the world with progress and unity," Ozai began, covering for his brother. "We ask you, as the intercessory between our world and the Spirits, to bless our crusade for universal prosperity and enlightenment. May the generations that follow sing our praises and reap the rewards of our work."

Iroh stole a look at his brother, gratitude in his smile, but Ozai was looking straight ahead at the statue, a self-pleased smirk on his face. Azulon caught his eye, though, glaring with a storm in his eyes. Iroh hung his head respectfully, staring at the floor as the Fire Lord finished the rite with a ringing voice and pretentious prayers.

The men in the room left solemnly, the weight of ceremony still on their shoulders. It took everything Iroh had to not run down the corridors, tearing his way to his wife. But Iroh restrained himself, denying his instinct as he followed his father down the hallway toward where Iza was. Azulon seemed to deliberately keep the pace slow and measured.

When they finally reached the end of their walk, Iroh again found himself separated from Zania. Azulon motioned for a servant to knock on the door and announce the arrival of the royal men. The door opened a crack that Iroh could just barely see Iza through. Their eyes met and Zania smiled, plainly exhausted. Even drenched with sweat and pale as snow, she was the most beautiful thing Iroh had ever seen.

Ila came out of the room to greet her husband and sons, bearing no new news. She shut the door behind her, serenely explaining false labor and how it happens often enough, nothing to worry about. Iroh heard little of it; he was still staring at the door, hoping it would open again just so he could see her. He couldn't imagine what she was experiencing, the mixed emotions of going through labor for nothing.

His mother had a calming hand on her husband's shoulder, subtly holding him back, as she continued on about how most false labor babies ended up quite healthy and strong, they just needed to be patient and wait for the real thing. Iroh didn't know if it was true, and he didn't care if Ila was making the whole thing up. When it seemed she had finished talking, Iroh cut in, daring to ask before he lost the nerve.

"Can I see her? I mean, if it's not really labor, then is it okay for me to be there with her?"

The Fire Lady smiled tightly, her lips trying to force back her assent. She didn't want to tell him that Zaina had already lost too much blood, that he should remember her as the strong woman she was, not the weak thing that was lying in that bed. She wanted to keep up appearances for Azulon, to help Iza seem worthy of her rank. But she couldn't deny her son, with his pleading eyes and open heart. "Yes, go ahead."

Iroh held his composure together long enough to bow to his father, brother, and mother before hastily going to the door. He opened it to find a room full of women, some bouncing from place to place, some gently rubbing Zania's shoulders, some standing in a corner and talking quietly. All of their activity seemed to pause as he entered, but when Ila followed him through the door, they resumed.

He zeroed in on the only thing that mattered in the room, taking the place of one of the doulas as he held his wife's hand and kissed her gently. She felt so hot against his lips, and her skin was so chalky white when it should have been blossoming with exertion.

"Good to see you," she said softly, smiling. "I was beginning to think you had forgotten me. I'm only your wife, after all."

He smiled back. She was joking. That was good. "There were just so many other things to attend to, dear. You know, duels, cabbages, imaginary beasts of burden. Stuff like that."

She laughed quietly, her tired eyes looking lovingly into his. Iroh watched as they slowly drifted shut; Zania had to be so tired. He brushed hair back from her face, cherishing the feel of her skin, damp and clammy as it was.

It was a few minutes later that it struck Iroh how odd it would be for a woman to fall asleep during labor, real or false. He scanned the room for his mother, who had found a place in the corner with a graying woman with an authoritative, but good natured countenance. Iroh vaguely recognized her as the midwife.

The women paused their whispered conversation, taking note of the sleeping woman in the center of the room. A strange look stole over their faces before they forced smiles. The midwife immediately took charge, sweeping the other women out of the room before examining Iza. She pursed her lips and walked around the sleeping princess.

"She needs to rest," she muttered. "She hasn't had a contraction in half an hour, so it's probably safe to say that this is over with for now. I'll stay near."

Ila nodded, briefly touching her hand on the woman's shoulder. "Thank you."

The woman left, and Iroh found himself alone with his mother and wife. He peered into the Fire Lady's face, trying to read the mix of emotions he found there. "Mom?"

She smiled, her eyes tight and her voice hesitant. "It's over for now, darling." She walked up behind her son, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Iroh, Iza's not well. She lost a lot of blood today. She's going to be weak for a while, and it's likely that when the baby does come…"

Iroh tensed. He didn't want to hear whatever it was that she was trying to stay. "She'll be fine, Mom."

He heard a sigh as his mother's hands caressed him one last time before she kissed him on the top of his head. "Of course she will." She started to walk back toward the door, looking back at her son and daughter-in-law. "Get some rest, the sunset ceremony will be around soon enough, and I doubt your father will let you miss this one either."

Iroh nodded and his mother left. He looked at Zania, who still held fast to his hand. Ever so gently, he climbed into bed beside her, cradling her to himself. Zania fit so well against the lines of his body, with her head on his chest, hair spilling everywhere. He smiled at the feeling; if Iroh had ever believed in a soulmate, it was in moments like these.

He held as tightly to his wife as he dared, careful not to wake or break her. He stared out into the darkness, trying to erase what his mother had said, and what she had not said.


	30. Destiny

I am so very sorry about the delay on this. Most of you probably aren't even reading at this point, so I guess I'm just finishing this for my own piece of mind. The final chapter has been written, and I'm going through and editing it right now. It'll be up within the week.

If you are still reading, please leave me a review so I know! Rant, rave, rag on me for not updating frequently, whatever.

Love,  
Karynna

* * *

The sun continued its journey through the heavens, occasionally peeking through the shutters in the bedroom. It seemed to Iroh that the sun was moving too quickly—surely it was still early in the afternoon. Zania hadn't stirred once, so it couldn't be too late. Iroh stole even closer to his wife, and reached one hand over to comb through her hair.

She smiled in her sleep, and Iroh could have sworn she moved closer to him. His hand traveled through the last of her hair and settled on her still-large waist. The baby was pushing gently against her womb and Iroh's hand, seeming to recognize its father's touch. Iroh carefully nudged back and the baby kicked excitedly. He laughed, surprised at the contact.

"Are you done?" slurred Zania, clearly still half-asleep. "That kinda hurts."

"Sorry, love," Iroh apologized, kissing her on the cheek.

"Iroh?" She turned her face toward him, half-shut eyes searching for his face.

"Yes?"

"Will we still go home tomorrow?"

He wasn't sure how to answer her, so he chose his words carefully. "You don't need to travel just yet, so no."

Zania's eyes lit up, opening all the way. "Can we go see the ocean tomorrow?"

Iroh smiled at her eagerness and kissed her forehead. "Of course."

A knock at the door dissolved Iroh's smile as he realized how the light coming through the shutters was growing fainter. He kissed Zania again and edged out of bed, straightening his clothes and walking to the door. A servant was on the other side, respectfully passing on Azulon's command to Iroh; the sunset ceremony was beginning and he had to be there.

Iroh nodded and asked the servant to stay at the door. Reluctantly, he walked back to his wife to tell her goodbye.

Iza frowned. "They don't need you there."

"I'm afraid they do," he replied. "But it's the last one; I'll be back before you know it. Go back to sleep, I'll make sure someone's here in case you need anything."

"I need you to be here," she countered. "Not in some meaningless ceremony."

He grabbed her hand, smoothing his thumb over the length of her finger. "I'll be back as soon as possible, I promise."

"Run," commanded Zania. "Run back."

"I will," Iroh promised, with a smile on his face. He leaned over, meaning to kiss her pale cheek, but with surprising strength, she reached up and turned his head, causing his kiss to land on her lips. Zania pulled him as close as she could, returning the kiss with everything she had.

A second knock at the door caused Iroh to grudgingly pull back and leave his wife. He turned to look at her as he exited the room, watching the late afternoon light shimmer through the dust to illuminate the princess lying in the bed. The door closed behind him with a dead sound.

* * *

Ozai stood with his father outside the door to the great sanctuary. Fire Sages lined the corridor, watching the Fire Lord and his son with anxious respect as they waited for the third player in the ceremony. Azulon had his back turned to them as he studied the intricate fire-controlled lock. His hands were patiently clasped behind his back, but Ozai knew better.

The younger prince had witnessed his father's discontent after the first ceremony, after Iroh had made a fool of himself, forgetting his part of the ritual. Ozai hadn't minded—or wasted—the opportunity to take over for Iroh, completing his brother's lines and his own without missing a beat. The Sages, servants and nobles had looked away when Azulon quietly walked back down the corridor and into his quarters, a storm and a threat on his brow. Even Ila could not calm him when she returned from Iza's side.

And now, as they waited on Iroh, Ozai could feel his father's impatience building with each moment that passed. It was the first time Ozai had been afraid in a long time. Only when the sound of rushed steps came down the hall could he breathe again.

Iroh bowed low as he skidded to a stop, one hand pressed against his fist. Azulon did not turn, but the head Sage motioned to Ozai and Iroh that it was time to begin the ceremony and the brothers took their place at the Fire Lord's side, facing the door.

Azulon lifted his right hand, and his sons mirrored the motion. The three men and two Sages simultaneously bent fire into the lock and, with a great noise, the lock twisted open and the door parted, sliding into the wall and revealing the sanctuary inside.

For the second time that day, the Fire Lord and his sons filed into the room, the Fire Sages following behind. The Sages formed a half-circle around the room and kneeled, their red robes spilling against the marble floor. The room was cast in shadows as the door closed behind them and Azulon, Ozai and Iroh placed themselves in the center of the room.

The sun glinted through the great ruby opposite the statue. A red beam of light was fixed upon the front of Roku's golden robes, but it seemed to Ozai that he could see it moving slowly toward his face. At his father's gesture, he bowed to the statue and kneeled before it. Iroh followed suit, leaving Azulon the only standing man in the room.

The Fire Lord's eyes seemed to reflect the red light, glowing with unnatural fire. He was, in that moment, the most powerful man in the world about to bow to the golden idol that served as a focal point for an entire nation's grasp of spirituality. Ozai watched as his father stiffly bowed and he finally realized the strategy behind taking control of the growing rumors of Roku's supernatural eminence. Azulon knelt down on the floor, his spine still rigid with regal pride. Ozai sat up a little straighter as well, emboldened by understanding the real political significance of the empty ritual.

The red circle of light had traveled up to the Avatar's face, highlighting the contours of his chin. The Sages were chanting ancient nonsense in unison now, the few words that still remained of the Sun Warriors' language. Ozai could translate a few parts of it, but found it was as meaningless as the words he did not understand. Certainly talking about lemurs and rocks meant nothing to the Avatar; they meant nothing to Ozai.

Azulon's voice boomed over the chants, calling to Roku and asking again for his blessing, calling out for support and strength for his nation, pleading with him to remember his people and to bring them victory. Ozai had never heard his father speak with such passion and force. It seemed that the ground shook with the weight of his words.

His father's voice hitched. The ground was actually shaking. Ozai could feel the marble tiles shifting beneath his knees. Surprised and concerned, he looked up at the Avatar. It was impossible.

Roku's eyes were scarlet, shining with furious energy. Ozai was entranced, held by their gaze, but was forced to look away as a thump announced that Iroh had fallen to the floor. Despite himself, Ozai flinched toward Iroh, but stilled his movement as he saw his father, still kneeling and calling out his prayers to Roku.

Even with the Crown Prince comatose on the shuddering ground, the ceremony continued.

* * *

The servant posted outside Iza's door was a stout young man named Shen. He was all too happy at his new position—serving the Fire Lord had been difficult to deal with today, and simply standing outside a sleeping princess's room would be much less trying. Shen watched as the sun slipped below the horizon, daydreaming about being home with his wife and daughter.

A low rumble distracted him from his thoughts, and a piercing cry turned him to the door. He flung it open, finding the princess wide awake and clutching the sheets in pain. "Get the Fire Lady," she panted, pointing at the door. "Tell her the baby's coming."

Shen bowed and ran, making his way through the maze-like temple to the foyer outside the sanctuary. The ground seemed to shake beneath him as he bowed to the Lady Ila and relayed the message. Her eyes narrowed and her face paled, but she sent Shen to get the midwife and immediately left to attend to Iza.

The servant ran off to perform his task, but his mind couldn't shake the image of the Fire Lady's pale worry.

* * *

The air was heavy and sweet. Iroh couldn't breathe enough of it in; his lungs were too small, his body too weak. His eyes fluttered open, but he closed them again. He was not awake. He opened his eyes again. He should be seeing a dimly lit sanctuary, a golden statue, his father and Ozai and Fire Sages offering chants and promises and praises.

Shimmering water flowed around his feet, sifting in and out of whispy grass and reeds. They swayed in a breeze that Iroh could not feel, but he could smell the fresh scent it brought and could see the fog that rolled through the trees. Low slung moss-covered branches sported small pale flowers that Iroh did not recognize. It was all uncomfortably familiar, like a dream suddenly come to life.

There was a growl behind him; Iroh turned, ready to burn the threat, but his energy refused to manifest into bending. His heart pounded as he crouched to a defensive position, ready to face the danger hiding in the fog. The air cleared and Iroh waited.

Something moved in the trees, bursting through the moss and leaves, jumping into the water with a splash. The creature moved toward Iroh, regarding him with curiosity. It was a monkey, or at least, it appeared to be like a monkey. It had no face and no features, though it moved as if it could see perfectly well.

The monkey crawled through the water, circling Iroh. He followed the animal, turning to face it. Hands still held defensively, Iroh backed slowly away from the monkey with each step. This place, this swamp, felt wrong, eerie even; the whole atmosphere crept across his skin. There had to be a way out of here.

"There is no way out, Iroh. At least, not through the trees."

He spun, fists still raised, only to face the man he had been facing before. Iroh bowed. "Avatar Roku."

"Similar to that, Prince Iroh," answered the man, bowing back. "Not exactly, but the name will suffice."

Iroh raised up, confused. "What would be more exact?"

"I believe that we can accept this as accurate enough. Roku is a familiar form for you, and one that I am comfortable with, for it is my most recent." Roku frowned, and his long hair swayed in a wind that did not exist. "We have some things to attend to, Iroh, and it is best that we hurry. Time is of no consequence here, but the world you live in depends on it, and there is not much to waste."

Iroh bowed again. "Yes."

* * *

"Push, Iza."

A sob escaped the dancer as she tightened her grip on her mother-in-law's hand. "I'm doing all I can!"

"You have to try harder. Your child's life depends on it. You've got to push!" growled the midwife from the end of the bloodstained bed.

Gone were the flurries of women, gone was the sunlight, and gone was Iroh. Only these two women had come back to the bed chamber, and only these women were here to bear witness to the birth of the next in the royal line. Zania moaned as she gathered every muscle in her body to do the one thing it could do no more of.

It was not enough. She was not enough. A whimper escaped Iza's lips as she collapsed back into Ila's chest. "I can't."

"I know," whispered the older woman, wrapping an arm around the other's shoulder. "I know it's hard, but you can't give up. Your baby needs you now, darling. It will be over soon, and Iroh will be back. You can rest then."

Zania's body quivered in the embrace as it involuntarily began to push again.

"That's it!" called the midwife, exultant. "Almost there. Good girl!"

She gave a strangled cry with the next try, pouring anything she could into the move. The baby had to come.

* * *

Iroh trudged through the water after the man who was but was not Roku. "May I ask where we are?"

"We are in the Spirit World," answered the man as they finally reached dry land. "Come inside, we have much to discuss."

A house appeared in the tree roots. Or, perhaps, the tree roots were the house. Iroh couldn't tell; it was not there seconds ago. The Spirit World seemed an accurate description of the place. "Forgive me for doubting you, but I did not think I was capable of coming here."

"This is not normally permitted for people of your world, with the obvious exception of the ones like Roku. We are breaking many rules for you to be here, but it is necessary." The man sighed and motioned Iroh to follow him into the house. They entered into what seemed to be the only room in the building, a plain room with a tea table. "Please, have some tea. I believe you like jasmine."

A teapot, steaming and fragrant, was on the table now. Iroh shook his head and knelt at the table. Roku knelt across from him, and poured two cups of tea. He handed one to Iroh, who accepted it with a bowed head. "Jasmine is my wife's specialty."

"We have heard that she is a lovely woman of many talents. Zania is not unknown here."

Iroh choked before he could lift the cup to his lips as the Avatar chuckled.

"Surprised? I suppose it would surprise you. But she is important to who you are, so she is important to us." The man sipped his tea as the table seemed to unfold into an image of the world Iroh knew better, a distorted, bleary map that teetered and swayed. "I am afraid the physical world has become unbalanced without me, but the time will come when I will return and the world will come to a moment when that balance can be restored."

The image settled into a steadying wobble that slowed to a calm, still world that phased into a circle of the four elements before the man spoke again, his voice darkening with deep sadness. "They were all once one—the people, the nation, the bending. And one they are still, but they have been divided. At first, we thought that it would help to settle confusion as the people mastered each of the four elements. But Sozin destroyed an entire people and upset the balance."

The prince hung his head. His grandfather's legacy was suddenly shameful and heavy.

"The death of the Air Nomads and Sozin's war have sent their unwelcome echoes into my world. The air still sings its lament. There are some acts that are unforgivable." He sighed, and the table became a table again. He looked up and saw Iroh's defeated posture. "Unforgivable, but not irreversible, Prince Iroh. You are part of the destiny to overcome these acts, a guide for those who bear the ultimate burden of restoring the balance.

"It is crucial that you understand how the balance exists, how the elements are interconnected." His eyes slid out of focus and he seemed to hear something else. He grimaced. "We do not have much time; your son is too impatient."

* * *

Pain seared through her body like the fire that occasionally slipped from her fingertips as she tried to push the child out. Ila clung to her hand, absorbing the minor sparks and burns with understanding murmurs. The midwife was all but cheering for her now, trying to edify Iza with her encouragement. But little could strengthen her now, now when everything was so difficult.

"One more, child, one more and you'll be done!"

Iza thought she would tremble and fall apart at the thought, but there was nothing else her body knew how to do anymore.

"Push, girl, push!" shouted the midwife. "The child is near, one more push!"

"I can't!" she cried, struggling. "I can't."

Ila tensed, grasping the young girl's arm firmly. "You will, Zania. Push. Come, now, Zania. Push."

Zania pushed.

* * *

"My son?"

The man nodded and raised the cup in his hand. "Congratulations, Prince Iroh." His face became unreadable. He placed the cup on the table and stood, walking around the table to kneel next to Iroh. He placed one hand across Iroh's brow and concentrated. "You will not be the same as the men of your world, Iroh. You will see things that do not appear to them. You will understand things that escape their abilities." His fingers pulsed, and Iroh shuddered under their energy. "Your destiny requires much of you, Prince Iroh."

The energy burned through Iroh's body, and the beginnings of understanding wove their way through his thoughts. The Spirit World blurred into the physical world and back as his mind reached its limits. The teacup fell from his fingers and shattered into nothingness on the floor as the table became empty space.

The room flickered with a bright light and all was still. Roku withdrew his hand. "Your destiny requires much of you," he repeated. There were tears in his eyes. "There is a high price for you to learn what you must know. There was no other way, Iroh."

Iroh's eyes narrowed as he searched the Avatar's faces, for now, he could see all of their lives in the one form—Roku's face was not his own, but it was many, all at once. One face became stronger, the face of a Water Tribe man who had suffered great loss.

"She will be here for a brief moment. Will you wait for her? I am afraid that you will not see her in that world anymore. You cannot return in time."

"What do you mean?" Iroh demanded, taking the spirit by the throat and slamming it against the wall. "Tell me what you mean!"

The Avatar's hand touched Iroh's brow again. Iroh saw water. Vast amounts of water and ice, flowing around him. A surge of energy filled his mind again, and the water transformed into something solid--a room with a scarlet bed.

Iroh cried out, seeing Zania there, leaning against the headboard. Her face was worn and spent, but content as her half-open eyes watched across the room. The midwife and his mother were there, fussing over a small mound of blankets. A small crying mound of blankets. Ila picked it up and walked to Zania's side.

"Here, child," she said, handing the baby to his mother. "Your little boy wants to see you."

Zania smiled, taking the tiny baby in her arms and looking down at him. Iroh willed himself to be by her side, and he was there. "Look at him, Zania!" he exclaimed. "He's perfect."

She didn't hear him. She couldn't see him. He wasn't really there, after all.

She was looking at her son. "Hello, Lu Ten," she cooed weakly. The child quieted in her arms as he looked into his mother's face.

Zania sighed, happy and content as she closed her eyes. "Where's Iroh?" she asked. "Did you send for him?"

"Here! I'm here!" he cried, touching her hand.

"The ceremony," answered Ila with a soft voice. "He'll be back soon."

"He promised he would," Zania agreed, opening her eyes and bowing her head to look at her son again. "He will be here soon, little one."

She closed her eyes again, and for the first time, Iroh remembered that the linens were not originally crimson. They were white once.

Lu Ten was crying again, but Zania's eyes did not open. Ila returned to the side of the bed, ready to encourage the new mother to feed her baby. She touched Zania's shoulder and drew back.

Iroh collapsed to the floor, his hands still encasing—but not touching—his wife's.

The midwife came over and took the crying infant from his mother's arms, giving him a knuckle to suck at while she spoke harsh words of comfort to Ila. The Fire Lady looked up at the other woman, tears running down both their faces. The midwife gave the baby to his grandmother and went to the door, giving orders to the young man standing there.

Ila cradled the child close as she sobbed.

Iroh touched—but did not touch—his face to Zania's hand as the Avatar sadly put a hand on his shoulder and drew him back to the now empty room in the tree roots.

Broken and kneeling on the floor, Iroh wept. The Avatar called to him, but Iroh could not look up.

"She is here, if you will go to her," the Avatar called again.

Iroh forced himself up, standing with strength that was not his and walking out of the tree root house and back into the swamp, led by an unknown knowledge of the misty world around him. He walked tens of miles that did not exist to a twisted, gnarled tree stump rising from the water.

A rock hit him in the back of the head.

"Over here, Iroh," she taunted. He turned obediently, and she was there. Zania, full and whole. Her body was more than the wasted away limbs he had seen in the bed. She blossomed with every curve and line that had made her who she was. Iroh looked at her in wonder, enjoying the sight as he gazed up the length of her body to her still scarred cheekbone.

"Oh good," she laughed. "You found my face."

He smiled. "So I did."

Zania's eyes filled as she walked through the water to him. She kissed him on the cheek and he embraced her, closing his eyes and breathing in, trying to take in her wholeness as he did.

He opened his eyes in a dim, red tinged room and his despairing wail drowned out the sound of his father's chanting voice as the light passed from the Avatar's eyes.


	31. Epilogue

I know I told y'all it'd be up within the week, but that nasty storm system that hit Arkansas and Tennessee so bad delayed a lot of my internet activity. Hard to update when you don't have power or reliable internet. (:

Anyway, this is the final chapter of the story, an epilogue of sorts. It, after the previous chapter, was one of the most emotional things I've ever written. This is the first work I've started and the first I've finished. I am grateful that each of you took the time to read this, and I hope this provides a satisfying end to the tale.

Also, if there's enough interest, I might add an appendix of sorts. A lot of my characters have backstories and their own tales and some of my ideas about how the Fire Nation operates in this story might be interesting to read. Let me know if it's worth writing.

Thank you for reading and thank you for the support.  
Karynna

* * *

Some idiot had told Iroh that the pain would lessen over time. That the hurt from the loss of his best friend, his lover, his wife, would eventually fade away. Foolishly, he hoped for such release. He prayed to every guiding spirit he knew for relief from the burning, hollow pain that tortured him so.

But it was a most hideous lie. The pain didn't go away. It grew easier to manage, like a cripple slowly learning to limp along, but the pain never went away. If anything, it got worse.

Some days, Iroh limped on marvelously, able to restrain his feelings and to move on with the day. But then there were days—horrible, evil days—that knocked him to his knees, leaving him begging for some sort of end. Any sort of end.

Iroh stopped drinking tea the very next morning. Nobody could make it like Zania did, not that he cared to try. Tea was their connection, their bond. How could he celebrate it without her?

Iroh started drinking liquor the day Lu Ten learned how to ask questions. He wanted to erase his memory, try to forget the way those pretty eyes—Zania's eyes—widened with curiosity as the little boy observed the women of the court tending to their children. "Why don't I have a mama?" he asked so innocently. Iroh couldn't find an answer and his son soon had another question. "Why are you crying, Daddy?"

The alcohol didn't work, so Iroh tried a change in scenery. The military was an easy calling for a man so well-trained in the art of war, and battle provided a bitter escape. Adventure after adventure began to bring Iroh recognition beyond what his birth could give him, and he traveled to the many cities of the Fire Nation for parades and recruiting. All that pomp and circumstance couldn't save him from the haunted gaze of a young firedancer desperately trying to gain the attention of his troops. The bartender cautiously cut him off two hours after midnight, surprised any man could last so long drinking the way he did. But this was Prince Iroh, and surely he had better endurance than common folk.

The choice to hunt the last of the dragons was easy to make. Dragons were notoriously fierce; many men had died in the pursuit and Iroh wanted to join them. To join Zania. So he left his men behind, bravely and foolishly making the attempt alone. He said that he wanted no help so that nobody would doubt he deserved the honor. He really just didn't want anybody to save him.

But Iroh didn't die. He didn't even fight the dragons. He saw them bending as he stalked them and he couldn't help the sobs that overtook him. The way that the dragons flowed around the fire and moved with grace was too much like the way _she_ bended. The great beasts heard his cries and found his heart to be pure, though shattered into innumerable pieces. They took compassion on him and his broken heart, taking him amongst the Sun Warriors and teaching him how to bend like the dragons. Like Zania.

Iroh's heart began to heal. It would never mend, but the gaping wounds began to scab over and the bleeding stopped. The pain stopped growing, stopped draining him of his energy and life. He returned to the palace, finding Lu Ten much larger than he was before, and more like his mother every day.

But instead of finding despair in the way Zania's son took after her, he found hope. He loved the way that Lu Ten brought his mother back to life in the oddest, most perfect ways. He marveled at the joy that the little boy brought him and embraced the role of father quite well, finding it more natural than he had anticipated. Life was beginning to look so much better. Perhaps not easier, but more enjoyable, more livable. Iroh even traded the firewater for tea every once in a while, sipping it slowly as he watched Lu Ten nap at his side.

All that blooming content was dashed in a single day. Iroh kneeled at his brother's side as Ozai desperately tried to remember the ancient vows. Ursa had never looked so dazzling than that morning in the temple as she recited her vows with ease. That wretched, cursed temple. It took every ounce of strength Iroh had not to destroy the world around him. His strength ran out soon enough, and he had to borrow some from the sake Zhao poured with uncharacteristic kindness.

The next year drizzled by in agony. Lu Ten watched in horror as his daddy slowly became a recluse, withdrawing from all the things that caused him pain. It was never enough for Iroh—he couldn't withdraw from himself—and the pain and the liquor turned him into an angry, violent man. He rekindled his old sparring partnership with Zhao, who frequently left the arena before the matches were even over, leaving Iroh to recklessly burn all he could find.

It was pain again that brought him out of his demented reverie. A sharp, physical pain delivered most aptly by the new Princess. Ursa had stormed into his chambers one day, slapping Iroh smartly across the face.

She slapped him again, trying to rouse him. "Iza would be ashamed of you."

"How dare you?" he growled, taking her fragile wrist in his hand. "Don't you _dare_ pretend you knew my wife." Iroh dropped her hand and turned his back to her, growling, "Get out."

She didn't leave. "Do you know what Lu Ten said to me yesterday?" No response. "He told me that he wished Uncle Ozai was his daddy, because Uncle Ozai can remember his birthday." No response. "He told me that his real daddy didn't love him. That he didn't know how to love." Ursa could see the sobs shake Iroh's body before he even knew they were there. She continued softly, placing a slender hand on his brawny shoulder. "I know those things aren't true. You know how to love. Probably better than the rest of us ever will. I know you loved her, Iroh, and I know it hurts you for her to be gone. But you can't ignore the child she left behind. She died for that little boy, Iroh. Don't let that go to waste. Don't dishonor her like this."

He fell to the ground, weeping in Ursa's sisterly arms. Neither noticed Ozai open the door and peer in to find his brother in his wife's arms. Neither noticed the snarl in his voice as he led little Lu Ten back down the hall, nor the sound of the door closing behind him.

Iroh never drank again. He suffered the urge to disappear into a drunken haze with determination. When Lu Ten began to bend, naturally imitating his mother, Iroh resisted the demon, fighting it down with affection and praise for his son. When the great and beautiful Fire Lady Ila passed away in her sleep, Iroh struggled to mourn his mother without sinking into the depths of the bottle. When Ursa's belly began to distend with the beautiful blessing of motherhood, Iroh refused to drink himself into oblivion with his surprisingly unhappy brother. When little Zuko came kicking and screaming into the world, Iroh turned down the traditional celebratory glass, preferring a sweet jasmine tea. Zania's favorite.

Iroh found delight in the Zuko's infancy, having missed the opportunity to experience it with his own son. His nephew and his son soon became the center of his world and he spent every spare moment away from court with the little boys, basking in their purity. He learned how to be the jovial man he had once been despite the heavy heart he still struggled to carry in his chest. Everything and anything reminded him of Zania, but he learned to transfer his love for her to the people and objects and places that sparked so many painful memories.

Zania's best friends became Iroh's favorite little sisters. Rong had married a young lieutenant who was rapidly advancing in the military. When the woman wasn't at her husband's side in battle, she hung around the palace and provided an excellent sparring opponent with her brusque tomboy attitude and no-nonsense bending. Iroh found her to be an astute observer of the court, able to see through all the bull and frivolity to the heart of the matter and the true intentions of the lords and ladies.

Little Ursa continued to teach Iroh how to be a parent and how to manage the pain in his life. He adored his sister-in-law, though he became increasingly concerned with the way that Ozai looked at her, especially when she was with Zuko or Iroh. When he walked in to find Ozai's fist reared back to hit his wife, Iroh stormed through the room, pinning his brother to the wall as Ursa fled.

"I should have expected you here, protecting her. You always were a traitor, Iroh," the younger brother spat. "I heard you talking to her late in the night so long ago. She never came to see me when I was sick, but she was there for you. When Iza came along, I thought my problems were solved, but we know better, don't we, brother? She wasn't quite what you were expecting, was she? I should have known you would be left craving a _real_ lady of the court. I never could quite trust you; I never should have trusted you. All you've ever given me was a weak title and a weak son."

"What are you talking about, Ozai?" Iroh hissed, searching his brother's face for anything other than malice. He found jealousy, anger, insanity, but couldn't figure out what in the name of Roku he was talking about. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are that your wife is here with you? That she loves you and always has? Those nights when you were sick, she sat with me trying to find the courage to come see you. Her entire world revolved around you, Ozai; it always has." He shook his head, his eyes glazing over with worn memories and wishes. "I would give every title I have to have what you have, brother. To have my wife by my side and to spend time with my son from the very start. I would give everything."

Ozai bared his teeth, snarling. "No point," he growled. "You already have it."

It would be years before Iroh finally understood that conversation. He never saw Ozai hit Ursa again, so he pushed the worries from his mind and returned to the life he was still learning how to enjoy. Though the pain never left him, there were so many things to be thankful for—the successful war, his new little niece, a good cup of tea—that Iroh became more and more like the young man he once was, before that awful trip through hell.

Lu Ten remained the light of Iroh's life. He taught him all the things a father should teach a son. Iroh took pride in the impressive way that his son learned how to fight with both sword and flame. Lu Ten was a natural talent at these things, just like his father. And just like his father, he had a smooth sort of charm with the girls. He danced like his mother though, strong and graceful.

When Lu Ten was old enough to join him, Iroh returned to the battlefield, earning the rank of general through hard work and pure skill. Father and son excelled in every battle, working together like a well oiled machine. Between the two sons of the Golden Flame, nothing could stand and city after city fell to their graceful triumph. Lu Ten showed great promise as a leader of the military forces. The men loved and respected him just as they did his father because he treated them with love and respect.

The same cruel hand of destiny that had taken Zania away revisited Iroh all too soon.

The Siege of Ba Sing Se had been a military wonder, partially devised by Lu Ten himself. Another five days, and the city would have crumbled before them. Not a single life would be lost in battle.

But a group of Earthbenders designed a last ditch effort to shake off the Fire Nation invaders, striking the division Lu Ten had been leading for three months. Lu Ten refused to sit back and watch battles from afar like other officers; he found no honor in letting other men die for him when he was supposed to be leading them to victory and glory and life. So he was on the front lines, shouting encouragement and orders. He was on the front lines, holding back the rebel Earthbenders so that a messenger could alert his father. He was on the front lines, rushing to push one of his men, a father of three, out of the way of an oncoming boulder. He was on the front lines, selflessly giving his life for another, just like his mother.

Iroh withdrew the army immediately, retreating into his country and his despair. The broken man returned to an equally broken palace. Mourning white draped the capital city as the people of the Fire Nation grieved the loss of first their Prince, and then their Lord. Azulon had died like his wife, quietly in his sleep, but not before naming Ozai as his heir. That same night, Ursa had disappeared, leaving gentle Zuko and wily Azula to the mercy of their father.

Looking back, Iroh would realize that those two had saved his life. Upon arriving at home, Iroh had started to believe that he had nothing left to live for. But then little laughing Azula knocked on his door, asking if he would help her find Zuko. They searched the halls in earnest, finally finding the boy in the garden with the little turtle ducks.

Another pain shot through Iroh's heart as he remembered Iza's voice teasing him for his fondness for the little creatures, but Zuko's tiny sobs brought him back to the present. Azula ran away impatiently as her uncle comforted her brother, but Iroh found he could never leave. Zuko was his last connection to humanity; Iroh would never let go.

Zuko reminded Iroh so much of himself, so much of Zania, so much of Ursa. It was hard for him to find any trace of Ozai in the gentle boy, but then, Iroh didn't quite recognize his brother anymore. Ozai's vicious rampages through the Earth Kingdom and the Southern Water Tribe seemed so far removed from the quiet young man that had once been the forgotten Prince. Power had driven the Fire Lord to the brink of insanity, coupled with a cruelness stemming from the loss of the balancing presence of Ursa. It seemed that the whole world would soon fall victim to his madness.

Yet, through careful contact with his wife's old Firebending master, Iroh found that he wasn't alone in fearing the worst of Ozai's intentions. The very notion that other people shared his concerns, people from all over the world, had shocked Iroh. Gratefully, he accepted their companionship and the brotherhood of the ancient order. He began to learn from them, to find solace in the solemn ritual and history.

When Zuko was thirteen, Iroh finally realized the full extent of his brother's madness. He tried every bit of reasoning he knew to try to dissuade Ozai from forcing Zuko into an Agni Kai with a full grown man, but nothing worked and when Iroh saw the Fire Lord step from the shadows, his heart broke for his young nephew. He watched in horror as Zuko begged for mercy, tears running down his pale cheeks. Ozai's voice held a dangerous tone Iroh hadn't heard since the time Iroh had stopped him from hitting Ursa, and a distinct chill ran down his spine as Ozai's eyes flicked to his brother and back to his son, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

That night, as he held his quietly sobbing nephew, Iroh remembered the pain in Zania's eyes as Iza finally relented and told the truth behind the scar she bore. He never fully realized the horror she must have felt as she had burnt her own skin, but now, with Zuko in his arms, he relived her pain through his.

The next three years were a blur of endless searching—Zuko searching the world for the Avatar, Zuko searching the world for himself, Iroh searching the world for traces of his wife. Their searches led them to the strangest places, places had never been able to enjoy as a conqueror, but Iroh could still find little pieces of Zania's heart in every port. Little trinkets and new varieties of tea brought her to life everywhere they went; everywhere they went, he saw her.

It was impossible to explain to Zuko just how much the spontaneous shopping trips meant to his fuddy Uncle Iroh, but the truth was that Iroh drew strength and patience from finding his wife in the world, the strength and patience he needed to stay by his nephew's side in their exile. Even once they found the long lost Avatar and Zuko's hope and determination had been renewed, Iroh still couldn't face a day without the reinforcing presence of his wife's memory.

Zania was with him through it all, through every moment of the war against his brother. From the cold battle in the north to the dark crystal caves in Ba Sing Se to the final flaming battle to finally finding his little sister-in-law, Iroh carried her with him in every word, every step and every breath. But it would be years before the pain finally ended.

* * *

Iroh sat quietly in a wooden chair on the balcony where Zania had last seen the sun. The ocean was still, and the waves were nearly silent as the red sky started to fade to black. He lifted his tea cup to his lips, breathing in the jasmine as he let the liquid slide into his mouth.

"Jasmine was her favorite," he slurred quietly as he stared into the sky.

"Whose favorite, Uncle?" Zuko asked, worriedly scanning his uncle's tired body.

"Zania's."

Zuko shook his head, confused, but said nothing. Iroh had been slipping in and out of the world lately, often speaking of, or to, some woman that nobody had ever heard of. Ursa had told Zuko to let Iroh talk, that there were memories that an old man needed to be lost in at a time like this. So when Iroh asked to see the ocean, Zuko had ordered the court to move to the slowly rebuilding Avatar's Temple for the summer, hoping it would bring Iroh back.

Instead, Iroh had fallen further into his own world, barely registering anything but the sun, the ocean, and jasmine tea. He spent his days on this balcony, watching the tide come in and flow out and watching the sun rise and set. Zuko had a sinking feeling that there would be little else left for Iroh.

But Iroh had no such dread. He was happier and more at peace than Zuko had ever seen him, especially now, as he was again lost in the sunset.

Zuko looked at the sky, wondering what it was that captivated Iroh. And suddenly, it hit him that Iroh had lived through more than what Zuko had seen, that Iroh had been young once, had been married once, had been in love once. He had never considered what his uncle's life was like when he was young, but could now see that Iroh had lived through much more pain and heartbreak and life than he had let Zuko believe.

With new understanding, Zuko looked back at his uncle, who had barely moved but sat now with his eyes closed. His frail hand still held the cup and saucer and there was still a hazy smile on his lips, but Zuko could see.

Ursa found them there, Iroh still looking with closed eyes out over the ocean, and Zuko kneeling before his uncle, head bowed in grief. She pulled her son to his feet, and together they left the balcony, leaving the Dragon of the West as he finally found peace by Zania's side.


End file.
